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THE  STORY 


NEW  YORK: 

PUBLISHED  BY  JAMES  MILLER, 

(SUCCESSOR  TO  C.  S.  FRANCIS  & CO.,) 

522  BROADWAY. 

MDCOOLXV. 

% 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S62, 

By  JAMES  MILLER. 

Ir  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for 
the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


> 


I 


0 


PREFACE. 


The  beautiful  little  story  of  Cecil  the  Orphan,  was 
originally  published  in  French.  It  has  enjoyed 
great  popularity,  and  is,  deservedly,  a favorite 
volume  with  the  young,  on  both  sides  of  the 
Atlantic.  The  attention  of  the  Editor  was  first 
drawn  to  it,  as  contributed  by  a friend  to  the 
columns  of  a religious  journal  under  his  charge. 
He  was  struck  with  the  peculiar  simplicity  and 
truthfulness  of  the  narrative,  and  the  attractive 
style  in  which  it  illustrates  the  value  of  moral  and 
religious  principle  in  the  young.  As  the  different 
chapters  passed  through  the  press,  a few  alterations 
were  made,  in  order  to  adapt  the  story  more  fully 
to  the  class  of  readers  for  whom  the  republication 
was  made. 

In  tracing  the  course  of  little  Cecil  through  the 


PREFACE. 


many  trials  he  was  called  to  encounter,  the  young 
reader  will  not  fail  to  notice  his  sincere  trust  in  the 
protection  and  guidance  of  his  heavenly  Father,  to 
whom  his  prayers  were  constantly  addressed.  He 
loved  God,  and  never  forgot  to  pray  to  him  in  his 
troubles,  nor  to  thank  Him  for  the  mercies  bestowed 
upon  him.  He  loved  to  act  uprightly  and  to  show 
kindness  to  his  fellow  men,  generously  forgiving, 
and  even  aiding  his  worst  enemy.  And  the  bless- 
ing of  God  attended  him.  In  answer  to  his  prayers 
he  received  strength  to  act  virtuously  and  nobly 
in  the  most  trying  circumstances.  Friends  were 
raised  up  to  him  on  every  hand.  Fortune  smiled 
upon  him.  He  was  blessed  with  happiness,  and 
lived  and  died  in  favor  with  God  and  man.  May 
all  who  read  these  pages  imitate  his  example,  and 
after  a life  spent  under  the  blessing  of  God,  and 
amidst  the  love  and  respect  of  their  fellow-men, 
in  usefulness  and  honor,  be  blessed  with  a happy 
and  peaceful  death.  May  they  love  and  serve  that 
blessed  Redeemer,  through  whom  we  receive  all 
u the  means  of  grace  and  the  hope  of  glory.” 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter  Page. 

L Tlie  Death  of  Mr.  Thomas  , . , 7 

II.  The  Heir  and  the  Orphan  . .12 

III.  The  Turleries  ...  . . 19 

IY.  The  Awaking  of  Cecil  . . . .25 

Y.  The  Wounded  Little  Dog  . . . 32 

YI.  Two  Cents’  Worth  of  Bread  . .41 

YII.  A Name  for  the  Dog  ....  48 

YIII.  The  Invalid 62 

IX.  The  Workmen 68 

X.  The  Architect  who  is  looking  for  a Groom  . 74 

XI.  A Promenade  in  Paris  . . . . 81 

XII.  The  First  Lesson  in  Industry  . . 89 


XIII.  The  Remnants  of  the  Chicken — The  Piece 

of  Bread  and  the  Glass  of  Water  . 95 

XIY.  What,  became  of  the  Remnants  of  Chicken, 
the  Piece  of  Bread,  and  the  Glass  of 
Water  .......  102 

1* 


6 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter.  Page 

XV.  The  Little  Schoolmaster  . . . 110 

XVI.  The  Little  Schoolmaster  loses  his  Scholars  11*7 

XVII.  The  Two  Strangers 123 

XVIII.  The  Poor  Blind  Man  . . . .128 

XIX.  The  Little  Musician  . . . .139 

XX.  The  Tract  of  Land  . . .151 

XXI.  The  Pair  of  Pigeons 163 

XXII.  The  Ten  Francs  begin  to  gather  Interest  172 

XXIII.  The  Robbers  and  the  National  Guard  . 184 

XXIV.  How  Ten  Francs,  without  being  put  out  at 

Interest,  can  Increase  to  a large  Capital  193 

XXV.  An  Agreeable  Surprise  . . . 202 

XXVI.  In  which  something  is  told  about  Fox  . 212 
XXVII.  The  Beggar  on  the  Champs  Ely  sees  . 218 

XXVIII.  What  brings  Prosperity  and  what  Misfor- 
tune   225 

XXIX.  The  Placard 234 

XXX.  A Disappointment 240 

XXXI.  The  Printers  and  the  Hundred  Francs  . 250 

XXXII.  A New  Project 256 

XXXIII.  The  Post-Office  . . . . . 263 

XXXIV.  The  Answer  to  Fox’s  Letter  . . .266 

XXXV.  The  Summons 271 

XXXVI.  The  Conclusion  . . 276 


CECIL. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  THOMAS. 

A long  procession  assembled  itself  in  front 
of  a bouse  in  one  of  the  principal  streets  in 
Bordeaux.  It  was  the  hour  at  which  the 
master  of  that  mansion  was  to  be  transported 
to  the  last  home  that  should  ever  shelter  his 
earthly  remains. 

The  coffin,  with  its  sombre  velvet  pall,  was 
borne  by  the  friends  of  the  deceased.  Imme- 
diately after  them  walked  a tall  and  extremely 
pale  young  man,  who  was  followed  by  a crowd 
of  persons  apparently  but  little  impressed  by 


8 


CECIL. 


the  solemnity  of  the  moment.  At  some  dis- 
tance behind  the  procession,  a child,  about 
twelve  years  of  age,  running  with  feeble  and 
irregular  steps,  vainly  endeavored  to  keep  up 
with  the  rest  of  the  people.  lVot  one  of  that 
long  train  paid  the  least  attention  to  him, 
although  he  was  weeping  so  violently,  that 
even  the  long  bright  ringlets  that  fell  in  golden 

o o o o 

showers  about  his  sickly  countenance,  were 
profusely  moistened  with  his  tears. 

The  burial  ground  was  soon  reached,  and 
the  usual  ceremonies  performed.  The  clergy- 
man, in  making  a short,  eulogistic  discourse, 
pronounced  Mr.  Thomas,  (who  had  been  a 
wealthy  merchant,)  to  have  lived  a most 
righteous  and  praiseworthy  life,  and  faithfully 
to  have  discharged  the  duties  of  a good  son, 
husband,  and  father.  The  last  short  prayer 
was  uttered,  and  the  crowd  withdrew.  The 
weeping  child  alone  remained  beside  the  grave  ; 
and,  kneeling  on  the  moist  earth,  he  exclaimed 


THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  THOMAS. 


9 


with  emotion  : “ Uncle  ! dear  uncle  ! shall  I 
never  see  you  again  ?” 

“ Are  you  not  going  away  with  the  rest  of 
them,  my  little  friend?”  said  the  sexton, 
kindly  touchi-ng  the  child  on  the  shoulder. 

The  boy  looked  up  without  replying. 

“ Is  it  your  father,  my  dear,  who  has  just 
been  buried  ? ” 

“ No,  Sir,  it  was  my  uncle,  my  dear  uncle  ! ” 
“ But  you  have  a father  ? ” 

“ No,  Sir,  he  was  dead  before  I can  remem- 
ber.” 

“ And  your  mother  ? ” 

“She  is  dead  too.” 

“ But  you  remember  her,  do  you  not  ? ” 

“ No,  Sir ; I was  so  very  little  when  she 
died  ! ” replied  the  child.  “ I only  remember 
a large  white  bed  on  which  she  was  lying, 
and  my  uncle,  my  good  uncle,  standing  beside 
the  bed,  holding  my  mother’s  hand  ! And 
then  he  said  he  would  take  care  of  little 


10 


CECIL. 


Cecil — Cecil,  that  is  I,  you  know  Then 
he  took  me  home,  and  I lived  with  him,  but  1 
never  saw  my  dear  mother  again.” 

“ And  you,  I suppose,  are  your  uncle’s 
heir?  ” asked  the  sexton. 

“ What  is  an  heir 1 55  inquired  Cecil. 

“ I mean,  everything  which  was  your  un- 
cle’s now  belongs  to  you.” 

“To  me?  .yes,  but  to  his  son,  also.” 

“ Ah  ! then  he  has  a son  ? ” 

“ Yes,  did  you  not  see  him  ? ” 

“ Now  I remember  that  I did.  He  is  a tall 
young  man,  is  he  not,  with  a dark  skin,  but 
very  pale  ? He  told  me  to  call  upon  him  to- 
morrow with  my  account.  He  did  not  look 
very  amiable,  that  cousin  of  yours  : and  I am 
sure  he  shed  no  tears.” 

“ Oh  ! that  is  because  he  is  too  big  to  cry ; 
only  children  cry  ; ” replied  Cecil,  wiping  his 
own  eyes.  “ My  cousin  is  a man ; he  has 
travelled  all  over  the  world  ; he  has  been  to 


THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  THOMAS. 


11 


Paris  with  my  uncle,  and  he  staid  there  three 

months,  and- but  how  dark  it  is  getting  ! 

I must  go  home,  or  Augustus  will  be  angry 
with  me.” 

“ Whc  is  Augustus,  my  dear  ? ” 

“ My  cousin,  Sir  ; and  my  poor  uncle  said 
that  now  he  was  to  be  my  father  and  my 
uncle  too.” 

“ Poor  child  ! ” exclaimed  the  sexton,  as 
Cecil  hastened  from  him,  but  paused  when 
he  had  retreated  a few  steps,  to  take  one  more 
farewell  of  his  uncle’s  grave.  “Poor  child  ! I 
do  not  much  admire  this  new  protector  of 
yours  ! ” 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE  HEIR  AND*  THE  ORPHAN. 

As  the  churchyard  was  situated  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  house  which  had  belonged  to 
Mr.  Thomas,  it  was  quite  dark  before  Cecil 
reached  his  home.  His  first  inquiry  was  after 
his  cousin. 

“ He  has  retired  to  the  chamber  of  our 
deceased  master/5  replied  one  of  the  domes- 
tics, “ and  he  gave  orders  that  nobody  should 
disturb  him.55 

“ Then  good  night,  John,55  said  Cecil,  tak- 
ing up  a candle,  “ I am  going  to  bed — going 
to  bed  without  kissing  my  uncle  for  good 
night ! Oh,  John,  I cannot  bear  to  think  of 
that  ! 55 


THE  HEIR  AND  THE  ORPHAN. 


13 


“ What  can  you  expect,  master  Cecil  ? ” 
said  the  ancient  domestic,  brushing  the  cuff 
of  his  coat  over  his  eyes.  “ We  must  all  die  ! 
It  is  very  bard  for  you — this  great  affliction — 
but  then  you  have  a cousin  left  ! Humph  ! a 
cousin  ! Poor  child  ! You  won’t  find  that 
much  ! ” muttered  John  between  his  teeth. 

Cecil,  as  he  was  retiring  to  his  chamber, 
was  forced  to  pass  the  door  of  his  uncle’s 
room.  He  could  not  help  pausing,  and  he 
perceived  a light  gleaming  through  the  crevices 
of  the  door. 

“ Augustus  is  there,”  said  he  to  himself 
“and  no  doubt  weeping.  Oh!  it  would  be 
some  consolation  if  I could  see  even  him  /” 
With  this  reflection,  he  tapped  gently  at  the 
door. 

“ Who  is  there  ? ” demanded  a rough  voice. 

“ It  is  I,  cousin,  I,  Cecil ! Pray  let  me  in  ? ” 

“ Leave  me  alone,  and  go  to  bed  !”  replied 

Augustus,  authoritatively. 

2 


14 


CECIL. 


Cecil  dared  not  reply,  but  involuntarily  his 
eye  sought  the  key-hole,  for  he  was  curious 
to  know  what  his  cousin  could  be  doing.  The 
child  looked  first  towards  the  bed,  expecting 
to  find  Augustus  there,  upon  his  knees  ; but 
the  bed  was  unmade,  without  covering,  and 
nobody  was  beside  it.  He  looked  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room — there  stood  his  cousin 
before  an  open  secretary.  In  his  hand  he 
held  a red  portfolio,  from  which  he  drew 
several  sheets  of  paper,  and  after  reading 
them  flung  them  into  the  fire. 

Cecil  looked  to  see  if  his  cousin  was  weep- 
ing, but  no — his  eyes  were  employed  in  a 
different  manner.  Cecil  left  the  door,  and 
retiring  to  his  room,  went  to  bed ; but  he 
continually  kept  asking  himself  what  his  cousin 
could  have  been  doing,  and  how  he  could 
possibly  help  weeping. 

The  next  morning,  when  he  came  down 
stairs,  he  found  Augustus  finishing  his  breakfast, 


THE  HEIR  AND  THE  ORPHAN. 


15 


“ You  did  not  wait  for  me  ? ” said  Cecil, 
timidly. 

“ Do  you  suppose  I am  made  to  wait?” 
replied  Augustus,  rudely. 

Cecil  seated  himself  at  table,  and  rang  the 
little  bell  that  stood  beside  his  plate. 

“Why  do  you  ring?”  demanded  Augustus. 

44  For  my  breakfast:  there  is  nothing  left,” 
said  Cecil,  surveying  the  empty  table. 

A servant  entered.  Augustus  addressed 
him  before  Cecil  could  speak.  44  Let  this 
child  eat  in  the  kitchen  ; and  remember  that 
in  future  you  receive  orders  from  me  alone.” 

44  In  the  kitchen  ! what  does  this  mean  ? ” 
questioned  Cecil,  in  surprise. 

44  It  means  that  I am  master  here — the 
only  master,  and  that  you — you  are  nobody  ! ” 
answered  Augustus.  * 

44 1 ? Am  I not  your  cousin  ? ” said  Cecil, 
innocently,  and  as  though  he  feared  he  should 
receive  a reply  in  the  negative. 


16 


CECIL. 


“ Listen  to  me,  Master  Cecil  ; you  are 
twelve  years  old,  and  ought  to  understand  me. 
Your  father  died  and  left  nothing— so  did  your 
mother — therefore,  you  have  nothing  ! ” 

“ But  you  are  rich,  cousin  ? You  have 
money  enough  for  both  ? ” 

“You  will  find  yourself  much  mistaken, 
my  young  gentleman.  I have  money  for 
myself,  but  none  for  you  ; do  you  hear?” 

“ Now  you  are  joking  with  me,  cousin  ! Do 
you  mean  that  at  this  table  there  will  no  longer 
be  a seat  for  me — that  I shall  not  have  a room 
in  this  house  ? ” 

“ The  house  is  mine,  Master  Cecil ! You 
should  think  me  very  good  to  argue  thus  with 
a mere  child  ; but  I wish  you  to  understand, 
that  my  father,  when  he  was  master,  did  what 
ne  pleased,  and  therefore  he  chose  you  to  re- 
main here — now  that  I am  master,  I do  what 
T please,  and  I choose  you  to  find  some  other 
home.” 


THE  HEIR  AND  THE  ORPHAN. 


17 


“Some  other  home!  Where  can  I go  ? 
Where  would  you  have  me  go  ? ” 

“ Where  you  please — I care  not  where  ? ” 

• Cecil  burst  into  tears,  and  approaching  his 
cousin  with  clasped  hands,  said  tremblingly, 
“ Oh  ! where  can  I go,  dear  cousin  ? What 
will  become  of  me  ! I am  such  a mere  child, 
as  you  said — and  so  feeble — so  often  sick  ! I 
should  die  of  hunger  if  you  turned  me  away. 
And  what  would  people  say  of  you,  if  you 
let  your  poor  little  cousin  die  in  the  streets  ? 
Why,  the  very  boys  would  throw  stones  at 
you,  as  you  passed  along  ! ” 

Whether  it  was  owing  to  this  very  natural 
remark  of  his  cousin’s,  or  some  belter  feelin^ 
that  at  that  moment  inspired  him,  we  cannot 
say  ; but  Augustus  remained  silent  and  lost  in 
thought  for  some  time.  At  length  he  looked 
at  Cecil,  and  said  with  affected  kindness — 

“ You  are  right  Cecil ; you  ought  not  to 


2* 


18 


CECIL. 


leave  my  protection.  To-morrow  I am  going 
to  Paris,  and  yon  shall  go  with  me.” 

“ What  ! to  Paris?  I shall  see  Paris? 
I?” 

“ Yes,  Cecil ; that  is,  if  you  are  a very 
good  boy.” 

“Oh!  dear,  good  Augustus  ! how  kind  you 
are — you  were  only  playing  with  me  just  now  ; 
were  you  not  ? ” And  Cecil  approached  his 
cousin  with  open  arms,  and  would  have  em- 
braced him  ; but  Augustus  pushed  him  away, 
although  not  angrily,  and  said — 

“ Very  good,  very  good  ; now  send  for 
your  breakfast  ! ” 

“ Oh  ! I am  not  at  all  hungry,”  replied 
Cecil,  shaking  his  head  mournfully  ; “ I could 
not  eat  now — my  heart  is  too  full  ? ” 

“ Then  eat  when  you  please,”  replied 
Augustus,  as  he  rose  and  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  TUILERIES. 

On  the  first  of  August,  in  the  year  1836,  a 
dark  looking  young  man,  and  a fair  and  deli- 
cate child,  alighted  from  a diligence  at  the 
usual  stopping  place  in  Paris. 

“ Oh  ! how  tired  I am,  Augustus,”  sdd  the 
child  to  the  young  man  ; “ I have  not  slept 
for  the  last  three  nights.” 

“ Wait  here  until  I come  back,”  said  Augus- 
tus ; and  he  entered  the  office  and  demanded 
of  the  clerk,  “ At  what  hour  does  the  diligence 
leave  for  Bordeaux  ? ” 

“ At  six  o’clock,  sir.” 

“ Is  there  a vacant  seat  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sir,  there  is  one.” 

“ Reserve  it  for  me.” 


20 


CECIL. 


‘•For  whom,  cousin?”  exclaimed  Cecil, 
who  had  followed  Augustus  un perceived. 

“ That  does  not  concern  you,”  replied  Au- 
gustus, much  provoked  at  finding  his  cousin 
so  near  him.  He  placed  the  money  for  the 
seat  on  the  desk,  and  received  in  exchange  a 
small  piece  of  paper;  then,  taking  Cecil  bv 
the  hand,  he  said — 

“ Come  along,”  and  they  went  on  their 
way. 

“ Where  are  we  going?”  asked  Cecil. 

“ To  the  Tuileries,  to  set  my  watch,” 
replied  Augustus. 

“ Oh ! I remember  when  my  poor  uncle 
used  to  tell  me  about  his  travels,  he  said  the 
first  thing  he  always  did,  on  arriving  in  Paris, 
was  to  go  to  the  Tuileries,  to  regulate  his 
watch.  Poor  uncle  ! I can  never  think  of 
him  without  crying.” 

“Be  quiet,  will  jou,”  said  Augustus  roughly, 
taking  Cecil’s  hand  as  he  was  wiping  away  his 


THE  TUILERIES. 


21 


rears.  The  child  was  frightened  at  the  harsh 
tone  of  his  cousin,  but  soon  became  distracted 
by  the  numerous  and  magnificent  shops  they 
passed,  and  said  in  astonishment  to  himself, 
“ What  a beautiful  and  splendid  city  is  Paris  ! ” 

The  two  travellers  arrived  at  the  Tuileries 
just  as  the  gates  were  thrown  open.  Nobody 
was  yet  promenading  there,  and  Augustus  led 
Cecil  to  one  of  the  most  retired  walks,  and 
made  him  sit  down  beneath  a chesnut  tree,  the 
(thick  foliage  of  which  shaded  them  from  the 
sun. 

“ Are  you  hungry  ? ” he  inquired. 

“ Yes,”  replied  Cecil. 

“ Eat  then,”  said  Augustus,  handing  him  a 
couple  of  pears  from  his  pocket,  and  a small 
piece  of  bread. 

46  Are  we  going  to  stay  here  long  ? ” asked 
Cecil  while  he  was  eating. 

“ Are  you  not  satisfied  here  ? ” returned  his 


cousin. 


22 


CECIL. 


“ Perfectly  so,  Augustus ; but  to  tell  the 
truth,  I am  more  sleepy  than  hungry .” 

And  in  a few  minutes,  Cecil’s  eyes  half 
closed',  and  his  lovely  head  fell  first  on  one 
side,  then  on  the  other.  The  quiet  of  this 
beautiful  garden,  the  delightful  shades,  the 
clear  basins  of  water  in  which  white  swans 
and  golden  fish  were  playing,  all  appeared  to 
invite  repose. 

“ It  is  easy  to  gratify  you,”  said  Augustus. 
“ You  could  not  have  a more  beautiful  place  in 
which  to  rest  than  this — lie  down,  and  sleep.” 
“ And  what  will  you  do,  meanwhile  ? ” 
asked  Cecil. 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Augustus,  evidently  embar- 
rassed, “ I have  my  portable  writing-desk 
in  my  pocket,  and  I will  amuse  myself  by 
taking  notes.  But  what  book  is  that  you  are 
putting  under  your  head  for  a pillow  ? ” 

“It  is  Robinson  Crusoe,  my  poor  uncle’s 
last  gift.  Have  you  read  it,  Augustus  ? ” 


THE  TUILERIES 


23 


" No  ; go  to  sleep  ! ” said  Augustus,  roughly. 
Cecil  replied,  opening  the  book,  “ It  is  the 
history  of  a poor  forsaken  child  on  a desert 
island ; read  it,  Augustus,  while  I sleep ; it 
will  amuse  you.” 

No — yes,”  said  Augustus,  taking  the  book 
from  Cecil,  and  again  repeating,  “ go  to  sleep.” 
He  glanced  over  the  book. 

“ Read — read  it — it  will  interest  you,”  re- 
peated Cecil,  yawning  and  rubbing  his  eyes 
u Poor  Robinson  ! Imagine,  Augustus,  a child 
about  my  age,  cr  a little  older,  I believe — 
alone,  entirely  alone,  on  a desert  island — but 
the  desert  island  was  not  so  fearful  as  the 
mere  fact  of  being  alone.  By-the-by,  Au- 
gustus,” added  Cecil,  laughingly,  “ do  nbt 
run  away  from  me,  while  I am  asleep — for  I 
should  not  care  to  be  in  Robinson’s  plight, 
I ! — a funny  idea,  is  not  ? ” 

And  half  laughing,  half  yawning,  Cecil  felt 
instantly  into  a sweet  slumber.  With  a con- 


24 


CECIL 


strained  effort  avoiding  to  glance  at  his  little 

o o 

cousin,  Augustus  took  a port-folio  of  paper 
from  his  pocket,  and  making  the  Life  of 
Robinson  Crusoe  serve  as  a desk,  began  to 
write. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  AWAKING  OF  CECIL. 

The  sun  was  setting  when  Cecil  awoke.  The 
first  sound  that  struck  his  ear  was  the  palace 
clock  ; he  counted  seven. 

“ Seven  o’clock!”  exclaimed  he  compla- 
cently stretching  his  arms.  “ I have  had  a 
good  sleep  ; ” and  slowly  opening  his  eyes  he 
looked  around  in  astonishment. 

He  had  forgotten  his  journey — his  arrival. 
Everything  around  him  appeared  strange  ; but 
presently  he  recovered  himself.  “Oh,  I am 
in  Paris — Augustus  ! ” 

Not  seeing  his  cousin  where  he  had  left 
him,  he  started  up  to  seek  him. 

“ Why,  where  can  he  be  ? That  is  a good 

3 


26 


CECIL. 


joke  ! he  has  hidden  himself  to  frighten  me  ! ,; 
and  with  the  happy  thoughtlessness  of  his  age, 
he  unconcernedly  amused  himself  looking  at 
the  objects  around. 

The  garden  was  hardly  less  quiet  than  be- 
fore he  fell  asleep.  A few  persons  were  still 
walking  about,  and  some  sitting  on  the  chairs. 

Cecil  waited  patiently  until  he  heard  the 
clock  strike  half  past  seven  ; then  seeing  that 
his  cousin  had  not  come,  he  began  to  walk 
up  and  down,  without  yet  being  the  least 
suspicious. 

“ I have  slept  twelve  hours,”  thought  he, 
counting  with  his  fingers.  “ Augustus  must 
have  been  weary  and  has  gone  somewhere 
else.  He  is  so  selfish- — perhaps  he  has  dined 
without  me — it  would  be  just  like  him.  When 
he  is  hungry  he  does  not  care  whether  others 
eat  or  not ; and  when  his  appetite  is  gratified, 
he  thinks  of  nobody  else — but  I am  hungry 
notwithstanding,”  added  he  aloud. 


i 


THE  AWiYKING  OF  CECIL. 


27 


“ I have  been  watching  you  while  you 
slept,  for  a long  time,  my  little  boy/’  said  a 
fat  gentleman  in  a blue  overcoat,  a sword 
hanging  at  his  side,  and  a three-cornered  hat 
on  his  heac^.  “ How  does  it  happen  that  you 
are  here  all  alone  ? ” 

“ I am  waiting  for  my  cousin,  sir,”  answered 
Cecil  meekly. 

“ And  are  you  sure  he  will  return,  my  little 
one  ? ” 

“ Why,  how  could  he  do  otherwise,  sir  ? he 
knows  that  I never  was  in  Paris  before,  and 
cannot  find  my  way  anywhere?” 

“ And  is  he  familiar  with  the  place  ? ” 

“ Oh  ! perfectly,  sir.  He  was  here  last 
year  with  his  father,  my  poor  uncle,  and  he 
staid  here  three  whole  months.  If  one  cannot 
become  familiar  with  Paris  in  three  months, 
he  never  will  at  all.” 

The  gentleman  smiled  and  said:  “ And 


28 


CECIL. 


you  intend  waiting  here  until  your  cousin 
returns,  do  you  ? ” 

“ I must,  sir ; where  would  you  have  me 
go?” 

“ And  suppose  your  cousin  does  not  come 
until  after  the  gates  are  closed  ? For  notwith- 
standing he  has  lived  three  months  in  Paris, 
he  may  very  easily  lose  his  way.” 

“Oh!  what  shall  I do,  sir?  I suppose  ] 
must  sleep  here  alj  night,”  replied  Cecil, 
whose  face  now  expressed  great  sadness  and 
resignation. 

“But  you  cannot  do  that,  my  little  one; 
for  when  the  drum  beats  every  one  must  leave 
the  garden.” 

“ Oh  ! sir,  I pray  you  if  my  cousin  has 
not  arrived  then,  that  you  will  let  me  stay 
here.” 

“I  am  overseer  of  the  Tuileries,  my  little 
friend,  and  my  duty  is  to  make  you  leave 


THE  AWAKING  OF  CECIL. 


29 


instead  of  letting  you  remain  here/’  replied 
the  gentleman  ; “ but  since  your  cousin  has 
lived  in  Paris  for  some  time,  he  ought  to 
know  the  regulations,  and  will  no  doubt  come 
for  you  before  the  hour  of  closing  the  gates 
arrives.” 

With  these  words  he  went  away.  Cecil’s 
heart  was  full  of  fear  and  trouble. 

“ Oh  ! ” said  he,  with  a mournful  look,  and 
without  noticing  that  a crowd  of  lichly  dressed 
people  were  assembling  in  the  gardens,  “ If 
my  cousin  does  not  return — if  he  has  lost  his 
way,  as  the  gentleman  said — what  will  become 
of  me?  Where  shall  I go? — and  then  I am 
hungry  ! I shall  die  of  hunger!  But  Augustus 
will  return  ; if  he  gets  astray  he  can  inquire 
the  road  ; he  knows  I will  be  lost  without  him. 
If  I were  not  so  hungry,  I could  wait  patiently. 
Perhaps  if  I read,  the  time  will  not  appear  so 
long. 

Then  sighing  deeply,  Cecil  took  up  his 

3* 


30 


CECIL. 


book  ; but  what  was  his  astonishment  when 
a letter  fell  out  of  it ! He  picked  it  up  and 
discovered  that  it  was  addressed  to  himself. 

“ This  is  curious  ? ” said  he. 

He  opened  the  letter  and  read  as  follows 

“ My  dear  cousin  : — I am  not  rich  enough 
to  support  you;  and  I am  too  young  to  un- 
dertake so  great  a responsibility  as  that  of 
bringing  up  such  a little  boy  as  you  are — 
besides  you  have  no  claim  upon  me.  On  the 
contrary,  you  are  indebted  to  me  for  the  little 
education  you  have  received,  for  the  clothes 
you  have  on  your  back,  and  for  your  food 
until  now. 

“ But  I do  not  reproach  you  for  all  this  ; 
only  leave  me  to  myself  for  the  future  ; live 
as  you  best  can,  and  forget  that  you  have  a 
cousin  in  the  world. — Paris  is  not  the  desert 
island  you  talked  about  a little  while  ago  ; it 
kS  a large  city  full  of  resources ; you  know 


THE  AWAKING  OF  CECIL. 


31 


how  to  read,  write,  and  calculate  a little,  and 
with  these  acquirements  you  can  get  along. 

06  Farewell,  Cecil ; do  not  seek  me,  for  when 
you  receive  this  letter,  I shall  already  be  far 
away  from  Paris.  Do  not  attempt  to  return 
to  my  house  ; it  will  be  useless.  I am  master 
there,  and  I have  a right  to  receive  whoever 
pleases  me,  or  to  remove  whoever  displeases 
me.  It  is  clear  I do  not  want  you  ; therefore 
do  not  come. 

“It  is  needless  for  me  to  sign  this  letter  ; 
you  will  easily  guess  the  writer ; act  as  if  I 
were  dead,  and  never  inquire  after  me.  Fare- 
well, forever  1 ” 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  WOUNDED  LITTLE  DOG. 

When  Cecil  had  finished  reading,  he  remained 
for  some  moments  like  one  petrified.  Then 
he  took  up  the  letter  again,  re-perused  it  with 
great  care,  pondering  over  every  sentence,  and 
seemed  not  to  be  able  to  comprehend  that  he 
was  really  forsaken.  But  when  he  came  to 
the  last  words,  “ Farewell,  forever/’  he  re- 
peated them  several  times  to  himself,  then 
suddenly  burst  into  tears. 

Yes,  he  was  indeed  alone ; alone  in  the 
world,  and  in  the  midst  of  this  brilliant  gar- 
den of  Paris  ; for  the  sun  had  sunk  below 
the  horizon,  but  it  was  not  yet  dark,  and 
the  appearance  of  the  Tuileries  was  at  this 
moment  superb.  Although  Augustus  said  so 


THE  WOUNDED  LITTLE  DOG. 


33 


positively  in  his  letter  that  he  would  not  come 
back,  Cecil  could  not  believe  that  his  only 
remaining  relative  would  show  him  so  much 
cruelty. 

“ It  would  be  so  wicked  ! ” said  he,  talking 
to  himself.  “No!  it  is  impossible  that  he 
could  act  thus — he  wishes  to  frighten  me ! ” 
And  he  did  not  dare  to  move  from  his  place, 
for  fear  that  his  cousin  might  return,  and,  not 
finding  him,  would  in  reality  leave  the  Tuileries 
without  him. 

Cecil’s  mind  was  now  so  full  of  anxiety  that 
he  forgot  his  hunger ; he  was  absorbed  in  one 
idea — he  was  alone  ! What  should  he  do,  and 
where  should  he  go  ? He  could  not  remain  all 
his  life  in  one  place.  He  arose  and  walked 
about. 

“ The  crowd  was  so  dense,  that  every  body 
pushed  him  as  he  passed.  In  vain  Cecil 
sought  for  a friendly  face  amongst  all  these 
people.  He  looked  imploringly  from  one  to 


34 


CECIL. 


another,  but  no  eye  turned  towards  him ; or, 
if  by  chance,  some  one  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment,  it  was  with  an  expression  of  so  much 
indifference  and  such  want  of  feeling,  that  the 
poor  child  was  chilled  through  and  through, 
and  the  very  drops  of  perspiration  on  his 
forehead  felt  as  though  they  were  turned  into 
ice.  Soon  he  turned  away  from  those  richly 
dressed  persons,  and  stopped  before  a group 
of  children. 

They  all  had  somebody  with  them,  either  a 
nurse,  a father,  or  a mother  ; nobody  seemed 
alone  in  this  immense  and  beautiful  garden  but 
poor  Cecil  ! His  heart  sank  within  him  at 
every  step  ; yet  he  did  not  weep— he  dared 
not.  Again  he  suffered  the  pangs  of  hunger, 
and  a momentary  feeling  of  the  baseness  of  his 
cousin’s  conduct  made  him  exclaim  : 

“ God  will  punish  him  ! ” 

These  words  made  him  remember  the  Al- 
mighty, and  he  added:  “ But  the  good  God 


THE  WOUNDED  LITTLE  DOG.  35 

will  not  forsake  me ; he  will  have  pity  on 
me.” 

Just  then  a dog  covered  with  blood,  and 
moaning  piteously,  ran  towards  Cecil,  and 
sought  shelter  between  his  legs. 

“ Get  away  from  me,”  said  Cecil,  angrily 
pushing  him  with  his  foot  ; but  immediately 
his  conscience  reproached,  him.  “ I prayed 
God  to  'have  pity  on  me,  and  I have  no  pity 
upon  a poor  beast  ! ” And  he  took  the  dog 
m his  arms,  and  caressed  it. 

“ Oh  ! it  is  your  dog,  little  boy,  is  it  ?”  said 
an  old  gentleman  passing  by — “ Keep  him 
with  you,  then,  if  you  do  not  wisli  him  to  be 
killed  ; he  has  just  escaped  from  great  danger. 
Poor  animal  ! at  every  stroke  of  the  bayonet, 
with  which  the  sentinel  was  endeavoring  to 
chase  him  out  of  the  garden,  I thought  he 
would  die  ; but  he  recovered  himself  bravely, 
and  sprang  across  the  iron  railing  on  the  ter- 
race. I advise  you.  my  little  friend,  to  fasten 


36 


CECIL. 


a string  around  his  neck,  if  you  wish  to  keep 
them  from  killing  him.” 

“ But  this  dog  is  not  mine,  sir;  I do  not 
know  to  whom  he  belongs,”  replied  Cecil. 
“ He  is  wounded,  and  you  ought  to  take  him 
to  your  house — for  you , doubtless^,  have  a 
home ! ” 

The  melancholy  sigh  which  accompanied 
these  last  words,  could  only  be  understood 
by  those  who  knew  poor  Cecil’s  situation. 

“Well,  that’s  a good  one!”  said  the  old 
gentleman  laughing.  “ Certainly  I have  a 
home,  but  I do  not  like  dogs  ; they  distress 
and  annoy  me  ; they  must  alwaj^s  be  watched. 
If  you  do  not  love  them  better  than  I do,  my 
little  fellow,  why  all  you  have  to  do,  is  to  let 
this  one  go  and  take  his  chance ; his  trouble 
will  soon  be  ended.  If  he  escapes  from  the 
sentinel’s  bayonet,  he  will  not  from  the  poi- 
sonous little  balls  of  meat,  which  they  throw 
into  the  streets  for  vagrant  dogs.  That  is  a 


THE  WOUNDED  LITTLE  DOG. 


37 


good  one — take  him  home  with  me  ! Children 
think  everybody  wjll  do  just  as  they  wish/’ 
muttered  the  old  gentleman  as  he  went  on  his 
way. 

“ He  is  a selfish  old  man,”  said  Cecil, 
caressing  ^the  dog,  who  gave  utterance  to  a 
sort  of  doleful,  whining  sound.  “ Poor  ani- 
mal ! His  foot  is  hurt.  A blow  from  the 
bayonet  has  torn  off  the  skin,  and  the  bone 
is  exposed.” 

Cecil’s  thoughts  were  now  entirely  occupied 
with  the  poor  dog,  who  had  run  to  him  for 
protection.  He  carried  his  little  burden  to  a 
clear  basin  of  water,  and  after  having  carefully 
washed  the  wound,  he  tore  off  the  corner 
of  his  pocket-handkerchief  and  bound  it  up 
The  dog  licked  his  hands  and  looked  up  to 
him  with  an  expression  of  so  much  gratitude, 
that  Cecil  experienced  a sweet  satisfaction  in 
having  dotfe  a good  act.  The  old  gentleman’s 

advice  to  fasten  a string  to  the  animal,  now 

4 


38 


CECIL. 


recurred  to  Cecil,  and  he  took  the  rest  of  his 
pocket-handkerchief  and  put  it  around  the 
dog’s  neck. 

If  the  people  walking  in  the  Tuileries  had 
thought  a little  less  of  themselves  and  a little 
more  of  others,  without  doubt  some  of  the 
number  would  have  been  struck  by  the  little 
pantomime  which  was  enacted  at  this  moment, 
between  Cecil  and  his  dog.  They  were  both 
seated  on  the  grass,  one  in  front  of  the  other, 
and  gazing  in  each  other’s  face  with  an  ex- 
pression which  was  truly  sad  and  touching. 

The  dog  appeared  to  say:  “You,  who 
have  saved  and  protected  me — do  not  aban- 
don me  ! ” 

And  in  Cecil’s  blue  eyes  might  be  read : 
“ Poor  animal,  forsaken  like  me,  what  will 
become  of  us  both  ? ” 

And  as  if  both  were  drawn  together  by  the 
same  feelings,  the  child  put  his  arms  around 
the  dog’s  neck,  and  the  dog  wagged  his  tail 


THE  WOUNDED  LITTLE  DOG. 


39 


and  licked  the  hand  which  caressed  him.  It 
was  a beautiful  picture ! 

Though  Cecil  was  twelve  years  old,  he  was 
so  small  and  delicate,  that  he  looked  at  least 
two  or  three  years  younger  ; his  countenance 
was  pale  and  sickly-looking ; his  features  were 
fine  and  intellectual  ; his  mouth  rather  scorn- 
ful, but  in  his  face  might  be  read  the  most 
exquisite  sensibility,  the  most  tender  and  ele- 
vated feelings.  His  eyes  were  of  a clear  blue, 
with  a sad  and  softly  insinuating  expression  ; 
his  dress  was  neat,  and  even  elegant ; his  little 
plaited  shirt  was  trimmed  with  lace  ; a silk 
handkerchief  was  tied  around  his  neck  ; his 
pantaloons  were  of  nankin,  his  coat  of  fine 
blue  cloth  ; his  feet  were  neatly  dressed  with 
nice  and  glazed  shoes.  He  had  the  appear- 
ance of  a rich  child,  who  was  waiting  for  his 
father  or  mother,  from  whom  he  had  only 
strayed  for  a moment. 

The  dog  was  a little  black  spaniel,  with 


40 


CECIL. 


one  white  spot  upon  his  breast,  one  on  each 
foot,  and  at  the  end  of  his  tail ; his  hair  was 
long  and  silky  ; and  his  ears  so  long  that  they 
almost  swept  the  ground. 

Cecil  and  his  dog  were  still  gazing  at  each 
other,  when  the  beating  of  the  drums  made 
them  start. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


TWO  cents’  worth  of  bread. 

It  was  the  signal  for  closing  the  gates.  Cecil 
remembered  the  advice  of  the  overseer  of  the 
Tuileries,  and  taking  his  dog  under  his  arm, 
with  his  book  and  his  cousin’s  letter,  he  followed 
•the  crowd  towards  the  gate,  which  opened  m 
Castiglione  street. 

“ I will  have  courage,”  said  he  to  himself, 
while  walking  along.  “ I am  better  off  than 
Robinson  Crusoe.  There  was  nothing  in  his 
desert  island  ; but  here  there  is  every  thing,” 
added  he,  going  down  De  la  Paix  street, 
and  gazing  in  astonishment  at  the  windows 
of  the  beautiful  and  brilliantly  lighted  shops. 
“ Everything  ! ” repeated  he.  “ If  the  desert- 
ed island,  on  which  Robinson  was  cast,  had 
4* 


42 


CECIL. 


been  thus  provided,  truly,  such  a large  volume 
would  not  have  been  made  of  his  misfortunes. 
But  I forgot  that  I was  hungry,  and  have 
only  eaten  a small  piece  of  bread  and  two 
pears,  this  morning.” 

Just  at  this  moment  he  passed  by  an  eat- 
ing-house, but  he  did  not  think  of  going  in. 
Brought  up  in  the  country,  where  the  customs 
were  plain  and  old-fashioned,  he  had  only 
heard  the  Parisian  eating-houses  spoken  of 
as  places  where  several  persons  met  to  dine* 
together  and  make  merry.  He  was  sad  and 
lonely ; and  anything  like  gaiety  for  the  pre- 
sent had  no  attraction  for  him  ; so  he  walked 
on.  Next  he  came  to  a large  hotel,  the  door 
of  which  was  open  ; he  stopped  before  it,  and 
looked  wistfully  into  the  court-yard. 

“ If  they  see  me,  probably  they  will  ask  me 
to  come  in,”  he  said;  and  unconsciously  he 
advanced  a few  steps. 

Servants  were  running  backwards  and  for- 


two  cents’  worth  of  bread.  43 

wards,  some  carrying  dishes  towards  the  steps; 
others  were  currying  horses  and  harnessing 
them  to  the  wagons ; but  nobody  noticed 
Cecil  ; nobody  asked  him  to  come  in.  In  his 
artlessness  and  ignorance  of  the  world,  he  was 
astonished.  Then,  supposing  that  this  neglect 
only  arose  from  their  not  perceiving  him,  he 
walked  a few  steps  farther  inside  the  court-yard. 

An  old  woman,  who  was  standing  before  a 
door,  above  which  was  written,  “ inquire  of 
. the  door-keeper,”  cried  out  to  him  : 

;c  For  whom  are  you  looking,  my  little  gen- 
tleman ? ” 

“ Nobody,  my  good  woman,”  replied  Cecil, 
delighted  to  have  somebody  notice  him  ; and 
he  walked  directly  up  to  her. 

“ What  do  you  want,  then  ? and  why  do 
you  come  in  ? ” continued  the  woman,  so 
sharply,  that  the  poor  child  stumbled  in  re- 
treating. But  he  quickly  recovered  himself 
and  took  courage  to  say  : 


44 


CECIL. 


“ I thought  seeing  me  there  you  would 
invite  me  to  come  in,  Madame.” 

The  woman  opened  her  eyes  and  stared  at 
the  child  as  if  she  did  not  understand  what  he 
said.  Cecil  continued  : 

“ You  see,  Madame,  that  I am  very  tired 
and  hungry.” 

“ Our  house  is  not  a public  inn,  for  travel- 
lers ; go  further  on,  my  little  one  ! Go  ! I 
tell  you  this  is  not  the  place  you  seek  ! ” and 
the  woman  accompanied  her  words  with  many 
gestures  ; but  seeing  that  Cecil  did  not  hasten 
to  obey  her  she  took  him  by  the  shoulders, 
and  pushed  him  with  great  violence. 

“ Oh ! ” said  he,  turning  down  the  first 
street  he  came  to,  “ what  a rude  woman  !” 
and  walking  on  he  arrived  at  a baker’s  shop. 

“ They  will  surely  give  me  a piece  of  bread 
here,”  thought  he,  entering.  A young  girl  was 
seated  behind  the  counter. 

“ Miss,”  said  he  hesitatingly,  for  the  door- 


TWO  cents’  worth  of  bread.  45 


keeper’s  behavior  had  made  him  mistrustful, — 
“ will  you  give  me  a piece  of  bread  ? ” 

“ With  pleasure,  my  little  gentleman,”  said 
the  girl,  rising  quickly;  and  taking  down  a 
large  loaf,  she  added,  smiling  kindly,  “ But 
before  I cut  it,  tell  me,  how  much  do  you 
want  ? ” 

“ How  much ! That  is  as  you  please,  Miss,” 
replied  Cecil,  gaily,  and  almost  devouring  the 
bread,  of  which  he  was  so  much  in  need,  with 
his  eyes. 

“ Forsooth  ! that  is  all  the  same  to  me  my 
little  gentleman,”  replied  the  girl.  “ Do  you 
want  two  or  three  cents’  worth  ? ” * 

“ Do  you  mean  to  make  me  pay  for  it  ? ” 
inquired  the  child,  with  such  ludicrous  earnest 
ness,  that  the  girl  burst  out  laughing. 

“ Do  you  suppose  that  I am  going  to  give 
it  to  you  for  nothing  ? ” 

“ Amanda!”  screamed  a loud  voice  from 
behind  a grating,  where  Cecil  perceived  a fat 


46 


CECLL. 


woman  writing  on  a large  account  book 
— “ Why  do  you  amuse  yourself  in  that 
manner  with  customers,  instead  of  helping 
them  immediately  to  what  they  want  ? Cut 
two  cents’  worth  of  bread  for  the  child, 
and  if  that  is  not  enough,  cut  him  four  cents’ 
worth.” 

The  girl  obeyed.  “ Here  is  two  cents’ 
worth,”  said  she,  presenting  him  with  the 
bread  with  one  hand,  and  holding  out  the 
other  for  the  money. 

Cecil  felt  in  his  pocket,  and  blushed  as  he 
drew  out  only  one  cent.  It  was  all  he  had  in 
the  world 

“ That  is  all  I have,”  he  said  tremblingly, 
his  eyes  filling  with  tears,  and  glancing  at  the 
bread,  which  was  not  sufficient  to  satisfy  his 
appetite,  and  which  he  dreaded  to  see  cut  in 
two 

“ There,  take  it,”  said  the  amiable  girl,  giv- 
ing him  the  whole  piece ; and  looking  fearfully 


TWO  cents’  worth  of  bread.  47 


towards  the  grating,  she  dropped  Cecil’s  cent 
in  the  money  drawer. 

The  poor  child  seized  the  bread,  and  seating 
himself  on  the  side-walk  near  the  baker’s  shop, 
for  he  had  not  strength  to  go  farther,  he  began 
to  eat  with  great  eagerness. 


/ 

( . / • ) 

CHAPTER  Vn. 

A NAME  FOR  THE  DOG, 

Cecil  was  still  eating,  when  by  the  reflection 
of  the  lamps  from  the  shop,  he  noticed  the 
dog,  who  was  looking  up  to  him  in  a most 
expressive  manner.  At  every  mouthful  he 
swallowed,  the  dog  would  wag  his  tail,  and 
draw  nearer  to  his  new  master;  then  seeing 
there  was  nothing  for  him,  he  would  sit  down 
again  on  his  hind  legs,  and  with  his  tongue 
hanging  out  of  his  mouthy  look  so  disappointed, 
that  Cecil  was  moved  and  exclaimed  : 

“ Poor  animal  ! he  is  hungry  also.  I have 
not  too  much  for  myself,  but  no  matter,  we 
will  share  it  ; I have  suffered  enough  from 
hunger  to-day  not  to  have  pity  on  others.” 


A NAME  FOR  THE  DOG. 


49 


And  after  this  reflection,  with  every  mouthful 
he  ate  himself,  he  gave  one  to  the  dqg.  The 
poor  animal  expressed  his  delight  by  jumping, 
wagging  his  tail,  and  crouching  at  the  feet  of 

O J O 

his  new  master ; then  standing  on  his  hind 
legs,  his  fore-feet  elevated,  he  appeared  ready 
to  dance  the  Cachucha. 

Cecil  encouraged  him,  and  said:  “ Give'  me 
your  hand  ! ” 

The  dog  obeyed,  first  presenting  one  paw, 
then  the  other,  with  such  grace  that  Cecil  was 
enchanted. 

“ What  shall  I call  you  ? ” said  Cecil. 

Cut  the  dog  could  not  answer  ; and  he  re- 
commenced his  tricks,  barking,  turning  around, 
and  alternately  presenting  his  paws  and  with- 
drawing them. 

“I  wish  very  much  to  know  your  name, 
my  poor  friend,”  said  Cecil,  again  speaking  to 
the  dog  as  if  he  could  understand  him  ; “ for 
you  are  now  my  only  companion — my  com- 


50 


CECIL. 


panion  in  misfortune ; both  of  us  wanderers  in 
this  great  city  of  Paris,  as  Robinson  was  on 
his  desert  island  ! I am  Robinson,  and  you 
are  my  man  Friday.  You  are  black  like 
him;  but  he  could  speak,  and  you  cannot 
say  a word.  Let  me  see  ; will  you  answer 
to  the  name  of  Friday  ? No,  you  not  under- 
stand me.  That  is  a pity  ; for,  besides  you. 
I have  nobody  here  to  whom  I can  talk. 
Can  this  be  a city,  which  so  much  resembles 
a desert  island  ? I do  not  know  to  whom  I 
can  apply  for  hospitality.  The  people  will 
perhaps  make  me  pay  for  a bed,  as  they  did 
for  the  bread  we  have  just  been  eating  to- 
gether. But  I have  no  more  money  ; neither 
have  you — have  you  ? Poor  friend  ! you 
cannot  be  of  any  use  to  me.  I remember 
the  fable  of  the  lion  and  the  mouse,  where 
it  is  said,  ‘ One  has  sometimes  need  of  a 
smaller  than  one’s  self.’  But  it  does  not 
follow  as  a matter  of  course,  that  the  one 


A NAME  FOR  THE  DOG. 


51 


smaller  than  one’s  self  must  be  a dog.  No 
matter ; be  quiet ! I will  not  forsake  you. 
I will  take  care  of  you  and  love  you.  I will 
tell  you  my  thoughts  and  you  shall  console 
me.  Meanwhile,  I should  like  to  find  a name 
for  you.  It  troubles  me  not  to  know  what  to 
call  you.  Wicked  cousin,  who  left  me  all 
alone ! Here  it  is  night,  and  where  can  I 
sleep?  Fortunately  it  is  not  cold;  but  the 
ground  is  hard.  If  I only  had  the  ground 
itself  it  would  not  be  so  bad.  But  these 
paving  stones  are  none  of  the  softest  ! 
Where  is  Augustus,  now  ? No  doubt,  gone 
back  to  Bordeaux  ; for  I remember  his  en- 
gaging a seat  in  the  diligence,  which  must 
have  been  for  himself.  O,  the  unfeeling  fel- 
low ! Come  nearer  to  me,  little  dog,  that  I 
may  tell  you  what  my  cousin  did— but  no,  it 
is  too  bad  ! I will  not  tell  anybody  the 
wickedness  of  my  uncle’s  son — my  poor  un- 
cle, who  was  so  good  to  me,  and  loved  me  so 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


52 


CECIL 


much  that  Augustus  was  jealous  ! Let  us 
talk  of  other  things,  my  dog.  Let  us  find  a 
name  for  you — that  will  make  me  forget  my 
grief.5’  And  with  the  versatility  of  spirit 
natural  to  children  of  his  age,  Cecil  tried 
to  recal  all  the  names  of  dogs  he  had  ever 
heard.  Then  he  pronounced  them,  one  by 
one,  distinctly,  all  the  while  watching  for  the 
slightest  sign  or  movement  of  the  dog’s  ears, 
which  might  express  recognition. 

The  first  name  he  thought  of  was  Valiant, 
implying  no  doubt  that  the  dog  was  courage- 
ous in  fighting  the  wolves,  which  were  very 
numerous  in  the  woods,  surrounding  Bordeaux 
He  repeated  Valiant!  Valiant  ! several  times, 
varying  the  tone  of  his  voice,  but  the  spaniel 
took  no  notice. 

The  dogs  of  Bordeaux  being  uppermost  in 
his  mind,  he  called,  in  succession,  “ Diana  ! 
Castor  ! Pollox  ! Beauty  ! Turk  ! Caesar  ! ” 
But  none  of  these  names  appeared  to  belong 


A NAME  FOR  THE  DOG. 


53 


to  the  little  spaniel.  Cecil  thought,  perhaps 
the  dogs  in  Paris  had  different  names  from 
those  in  Bordeaux. 

Immediately,  his  uncle’s  journey  to  Paris 
recurred  to  his  mind ; for  you  must  know,  my 
dear  reader,  that  this  journey  had  been  the 
most  remarkable  event  in  Mr.  Thomas’s  life ; 
and  from  the  time  of  its  occurrence  until  his 
death,  two  years  afterwards,  it  had  been 
almost  his  only  subject  of  conversation. 

All  the  names  of  dogs  that  Cecil  could 
remember  as  connected  with  his  uncle’s  nar- 
rations, were  Moloch,  Florence,  and  Tycho ; 
but  to  none  of  these  did  the  little  spaniel 
answer. 

At  this  moment,  a gentleman,  in  a blue 
great  coat  and  a three  cornered  hat,  passed 
by  Cecil,  whistling  to  a large  grey  hound, 
which  he  called  Fox. 

The  spaniel  made  one  bound  as  if  to  ran 

towards  the  gentleman,  but  immediately  re- 

5* 


54 


CECIL. 


turned  and  crouched  down  at  Cecil’s  feet 
with  a joyful  whine. 

“Oh!  your  name  is  Foxl ” exclaimed 
Cecil  with  pleasure. 

The  dog  wagged  hjs  tajj  jn  token  of  assent. 

“ Well,  Fox,”  added  he,  “we  have  supped, 
but  we  have  had  nothing  to  drink,  and  I am 
very  thirsty — are  you  thirsty  ? ” 

The  dog,  as  if  he  understood,  ran  down  a 
street,  continually  looking  back  to  see  if  his 
master  followed.  The  gentleman  in  the  blue 
great  coat  walked  slowly  behind  them. 

Fox  conducted  Cecil  in  this  manner  to  a 
place  where  several  streets  crossed,  in  the 
middle  of  which  rose  a beautiful  fountain. 
Fox  drank  out  of  the  basin,  and  Cecil  from 
one  of  the  spouts. 

“ Thank  you,”  said  Cecil,  “ I gave  you 
bread  and  you  have  given  me  water,  so  we 
are  quits.  Now  we  will  remain  here  and 
sleep  ; for  I am  weary.” 


A NA.ME  FOR  THE  DOG. 


55 


Cecil  bad  laid  himself  down  upon  the 
ground,  when  the  gentleman  in  the  great 
coat,  who  had  not  lost  sight  of  him  for  a 
moment,  approached,  and  said  : 

“ What  are  you  doing  there,  all  alone,  and 
at  this  hour  ? Do  you  know  that  it  is  late, 
my  little  friend  ?” 

“ You  see,  Sir,  that  I am  playing  with  my 
dog,”  replied  Cecil  without  moving. 

“I  thought  you  were  a lost  child,”  said 
the  stranger,  “.but  I perceive  by  your  dress 
that  I must  be  mistaken.” 

Cecil,  at  the  word  lost , started  involuntarily, 
and  yet  refrained  from  making  any  exclama- 
tion. When  the  gentleman  had  ceased  speak- 
ing, the  child  asked,  with  an  air  which  might 
have  been  taken  for  one  of  curiosity,  but  which 
was  really  one  of  anxiety  : 

“ Wed 1 if  I had  been  a lost  child,  what 
would  you  have  done,  Sir  ? ” 


56 


CECIL. 


“ I should  have  asked  you  where  you  livet 
and  taken  you  home.” 

“ You  are  very  good,  then,”  said  Cecil  ris- 
ing and  approaching  his  interrogator. 

“ It  is  my  business  to  take  care  of  lost 
children.” 

“ Your  business  to  take  home  all  the  chil- 
dren who  lose  their  way  ! What  do  you  call 
yourself?”  exclaimed  Cecil. 

“ I am  the  Town  Crier.” 

“ Town  Crier  ! ” repeated  Cecil.  “ But  I 
thought,  Sir,  that  some  of  these  poor  children 
had  no  homes  ! ” 

C£  Then,”  said  the  Town  Crier,  who  was 
amused  by  Cecil’s  prattling,  “ as  all  children 
without  homes  are  beggars,  or  vagrants,  I take 
them  to  prison.” 

“ But  could  there  not  be  some  children  who 
had  no  home,  and  yet  were  neither  beggars 
nor  vagrants,  Sir?  If  for  example,  a little 
boy  were  lost  by  his  big  cousin,  who  wished 


A NAME  FOR  THE  DOG. 


57 


to  get  rid  of  him  ? ” inquired  Cecil,  a little 
agitated. 

The  Town  Crier  smiled  and  replied : 
“ Then  the  big  cousin  must  have  been  a 
very  bad  cousin.” 

“ But  what  if  it  was  so,  Sir  ? ” 

“ I should  take  the  little  cousin  to  prison, 
because  nobody  is  permitted  to  sleep  in  the 
streets ; but  the  prison  is  neither  very  dark 
nor  very  gloomy.  Then,  the  little  cousin 
would  be  questioned  ; if  he  had  parents,  they 
would  be  written  to,  and  asked  if  they  would 
own  him  ; if  his  parents  would  not  own  him, 
the  child  would  be  placed  in  a house,  where 
very  good  care  would  be  taken  of  him,  and  he 
would  be  taught  a trade.” 

“ Would  it  not  be  like  a prison  there?” 
asked  Cecil. 

“ Not  at  all,  my  little  friend!  At  first  he 
could  not  go  out ; he  would  not  be  free  to  do 
as  he  chose  ; and  a little  boy  like  you  would 


58 


CECIL. 


not  be  allowed  to  have  such  a pretty  dog  for 
a companion.” 

Cecil  thought  a moment,  then  said  : 

“ It  is  not  permitted  to  sleep  in  the  streets ! ” 
as  if  this  had  particularly  struck  him.  “Well, 
that  is  strange  ! Poor  forsaken  Robinson,  on 
his  desert  island,  had  at  least  this  liberty  ! I 
thank  you,  Sir,  and  bid  you  good  evening,” 
added  he,  taking  his  dog  under  his  arm,  and 
walking  away  from  the  Town  Crier. 

“ No  doubt,”  thought  Cecil,  “ there  are 
other  privileges  in  Paris  for  deserted  children, 
which  should  compensate  for  not  being  able 
to  sleep  in  the  streets.  But  I at  least  am  a 
hundred  times  more  perplexed  here  than  was 
ever  Robinson  Crusoe.  Where  shall  I sleep  ? 
All  the  doors  are  closed,  and  if  I knock,  1 
shall  perhaps  be  badly  treated,  as  I was  by  the 
door-keeper  of  the  hotel  near  the  Tuileries  , 
and  I do  riot  like  to  be  insulted  ! If  I could 
find  a deserted  house,  it  would  suit  me  admir- 


A NAME  FOR  THE  DOG. 


59 


ably,  and  Fox  also;  would  it  not,  my  little 
dog  ? ” 

Cecil  looked  up  to  see  whether  he  had 
strayed.  He  perceived  on  his  right  two 
unfinished  houses,  and  a scaffolding  in  front 
of  them,  before  which  a small  lamp  was 
burning,  that  emitted  a black  and  disagree- 
able smoke. 

“Here  is  just  the  place  for  us  ! ” exclaimed 
he  joyfully.  “ Two  houses  without  doors  or 
windows,  and  probably  no  tenants — nobody  to 
speak  to  us,  or  refuse  us  admittance ! Come 
let  us  go  in  ! ” 

But  the  poor  child  was  deceived  ; ffor  he 
had  hardly  advanced  two  steps  under  the 
scaffolding  when  an  enraged  voice  screamed 
out, 

“ Who  is  there  ? ” 

Cecil’s  courage  failed  him. 

“Somebody  to  turn  me  away  again  !”  said 
he  sorrowfully. 

^ i 


60 


CECIL. 


The  poor  wanderer  raised  his  tearful  eyes 
to  heaven,  and  falling  down  on  his  knees, 
with  clasped  hands,  uttered  these  words : 

cc  Oh  ! Almighty  God,  who  art  in  heaven, 
have  pity  on  me  ! What  will  become  of  me 
if  I can  find  neither  a bed  to  lie  on  nor  food 
to  eat  ? Oh  God  ! give  me  strength  and 
instruction  what  to  do.  My  poor  uncle  al- 
ways told  me  that  heaven  would  aid  me.  I 
do  not  ask  for  better  succour  than  from  thee, 
my  heavenly  Father  ; but  do  not  let  them  put 
me  in  prison  ! I have  read  of  children  who 
worked  to  support  their  parents  ; I wish  for 
nothing  better  than  to  work  for  myself;  but 
how  shall  I get  employment?  Oh!  Almighty 
Father,  I place  my  trust  in  thee;  have  mercy 
on  the  poor,  forsaken  child — another  Robinson, 
but  a thousand  times  more  to  be  pitied  in 
Paris',  than  the  real  Robinson  on  the  desert 
island.” 

His  prayer  was  here  interrupted  by  the 


A NAME  FOR  THE  DOG. 


61 


same  voice,  again  calling  out  and  still  more 
crossly, 

“ Who  is  there  ? ” 

Fox  answered  by  growling. 


'V 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE  INVALID* 

“ There  is  then,  somebody  here?”  added  the 
voice,  which  was  followed  by  the  sound  of  an 
approaching  crutch  ; and,  in  a moment,  a crip- 
ple, dressed  in  uniform,  stood  before  Cecil. 
“ It  was  you,  you  little  urchin,  making  all  that 
noise,  was  it?”  demanded  the  old  soldier. 

“ I did  not  think  I made  much  noise,”  said 
Cecil,  sorrowfully. 

“ If  it  was  not  you  it  was  your  dog,  then, 
that  awoke  me  from  my  sleep.  One  cannot 
sleep  quietly  for  a single  hour  in  this  Great 
Louis  street.” 

“ Oh  ! if  you  can  sleep  at  all,  you  are  very 
fortunate  ! ” exclaimed  Cecil. 


THE  INVALID. 


63 


“ But  I tell  you  I cannot  sleep.  You  see 
very  well  that  I cannot  sleep,  you  little  mon- 
key. If  I had  a dog  like  yours  I might  sleep  ; 
for  he  would  keep  watch  for  me ; but  the 
street  sweepers  poisoned  mine  last  week — - 
my  poor  Austerlitz ! I had  forgotten  to  muzzle 
him  ; and,  in  his  old  age,  he  had  grown  greedy. 
I warned  him  repeatedly  not  to  touch  the 
little  meat-balls  thrown  about  the  streets,  but 
I might  as  well  have  talked  to  my  wooden 
leg.  He  did  not  heed  me.  He  saw  one  of 
the  poisoned  balls  in  his  w&y  and  tasted  it. 
Poor  Austerlitz  ! he  came  and  died  in  my 
arms ! He  was  my  friend,  my  only  friend ! 
We  met  each  other,  both  wounded,  in  the 
battle,  after  which  I named  him.  I bound 
up  his  wounds ; he  licked  mine ; and,  from 
that  time,  we  have,  as  the  song  says,  ‘ together 
glided  down  the  stream  of  life/  until  last  Fri- 
day afternoon,  at  half-past  three  o’clock,  when 
Austerlitz  died.  Will  you  sell  me  your  dog, 


64 


CECIL. 


my  little  monkey;  or  give  it  to  me  gather? 
for  it  would  be  difficult  to  pay  for  it,  as  you 
see  my  purse  is  at  present  empty.  But  give 
him  to  me ; it  would  afford  me  much  pleasure. 
I will  call  him  Austerlitz,  and  even  a dog 
should  be  proud  of  that  glorious  name.  What 
do  you  say  ? ” 

“ I say,  Sir,  that  I will  make  you  a pro- 
position : this  dog  is  not  mine,  and  I can 
neither  give  nor  sell  him  to  you  ; blit  if  you 
will  let  him  and  me  sleep  here  with  you,  we 
will  both  keep  watch.” 

“That  will  do,  my  fine  little  boy;  that 
will  do!  Come  in  ; the  sleeping  apartment  is 
fresh  and  clean  ; the  four  walls  will  serve  for 
bed-curtains,  and  heaven  for  a ceiling.  The 
bed  is  not  to  be  despised  ; it  is  of  granite, 
which  is  very  costly  ; every  thing  is  elegant, 
and  has  never  been  used  ; we  may  not  always 
have  such  good  accommodations.  Have  you 
supped?  Are  you  thirsty  ? Are  you  hungry  ?” 


THE  INVALID. 


65 


“ Alas ! ” said  Cecil,  ashamed  of  his  dis- 
tressed situation,  “ since  this  morning  I have 
only  eaten  a little  bread.” 

“ Poor  child  ! ” said  the  old  soldier,  kindly  ; 
“ There  ! take  the  remainder  of  this  cold  veal, 
which  was  given  to  me  by  a charming  little 
girl  who  lives  just  by  here  ; and  there  is  some 
bread!  But,  bles^  me,  when  I have  wine  I 
can  never  leave  a drop  ; it  is  a habit  I got 
into  in  the  wars.  If  you  want  some  water,  I 
believe  there  is  some  in  the  pitcher. 

“ Did  you  wish  to  save  some  for  to- 
morrow?” interrupted  Cecil,  coloring  at  the 
remark,  and  suddenly  ceasing  to  eat. 

“ Save  some  for  to-morrow  ! Nonsense  ! 
Eat  away,  my  young  hero!  Old  father  La 
Tuile  i^  not  sufficiently  sure  of  seeing  to- 
morrow to  lay  up  anything  for  the  future. 
Son  of  a soldier,  and  bcrn  on  the  day  of  a 
battle,  I have  grown  up  in  the  midst  of  battles, 

doubting  every  day  whether  the  next  would 
6* 


66 


CECIL. 


not  be  my  last.  This  leg  has  made  me  a 
half-pay  officer,  and  I am  now  numbered 
among  the  king’s  invalids.  By  the  by,  little 
monkey,  I am  talking  away  like  an  old  magpie, 
without  inquiring  how  such  a nicely-dressed 
and  genteel  little  boy  as  you  are,  happen  to 
be  wandering  about  the  streets  of  Paris,  dying 
of  hunger,  and  without  a home?” 

Cecil  was  preparing  to  gratify  the  old  man’s 
curiosity  when  a second  thought  made  him 
change  his  mind  and  he  said, 

“ I cannot  tell  you  about  it,  Sir ; it  is  too 
horrible.” 

> “ Can  it  be  possible  that  you  have  done 
something  horrible,  with  that  sweet  and  sinless 
face!”  exclaimed  father  La  Tuile. 

“ It  was  not  I,  who  did  something  horrible, 
Sir  ; it  was  my  cousin.  My  cousin  is  the  son 
of  my  dead  uncle,  who  was  the  best  man  on 
earth ; and  it  would  have  grieved  him  so 
much,  if  he  knew  that  I told  anybody  of  his 


THE  INVALID. 


67 


son’s  wickedness — it  is  on  that  account  that  I 
cannot  tell  you  about  it,  Sir.” 

“ If  they  did  not  tell  us  our  duty  more 
clearly  in  the  regiment  than  you  have  related 
the  history  of  your  cousin,  there  would  be  few 
soldiers  capable  of  fulfilling  their  trust.  But 
sleep  will  do  you  good — -so,  good  night.” 
Saying  these  words,  the  cripple  went  be- 
hind a little  tent,  ingeniously  formed  of  linen 
suspended  on  the  beams  of  the  unfinished 
house.  Cecil  laid  himself  on  a bundle  of  hay, 
with  Fox  at  his  feet.  A few  minutes  after- 
wards Cecil’s  troubles  were  lost  in  the  sweet 
and  refreshing  slumber  W'hich  visits  the  pillow 
of  youth  and  innocence. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  WORKMEN. 

Cecil  was  awakened  at  daylight  by  Ins  dog’s 
loud  barking;  and  starting  up  he  beheld  Fox 
looking  half  threateningly,  half  fearfully  at  a 
crowd  of  workmen. 

“ Here — father  La  Tuile,”  screamec  one 
of  the  workmen,  “ what  does  all  this  mean  ? 
Who  are  these  new  tenants,  who  cannot  wait 
until  a house  is  finished  before  they  come  to 
occupy  it  ? ” 

~ “Well  what  is  the  matter?”  said  fathei 
La  Tuile,  raising  the  cloth  of  his  tent  a little, 
and  looking  towards  Cecil,  who  still  lay  on 
his  straw  bed.  “ These  new  tenants  ! I gave 
them  shelter,  and  where  was  the  harm  ? ” 

“ There  is  no  harm,  father  La  Tuile,  no 


THE  WORKMEN. 


69 


harm  at  all,55  replied  the  workman,  who  had 
before  spoken,  and  who  appeared  to  be  the 
foieman.  “ But  allow  me  to  say  notwith- 
standing, father  La  Tuile,  that  instead  of 
giving  shelter  to  this  little  rogue,  you  might 
better  have  taken  him  back  to  his  parents, 
who  must  be  very  uneasy  on  his  account.” 

“ I have  no  parents,  Mr.  Workman  ! ” said 
Cecil,  rising  and  shaking  off  the  bits  of  straw 
from  his  hair. 

“ No  father  nor  mother  ? ” inquired  the 
foreman. 

“ I only  had  an  uncle,  and  he  is  dead,  Sir,” 
said  Cecil,  wiping  away  a tear  which  rolled 
down  his  cheek. 

“ No  father  and  no  mother?”  exclaimed 
all  the  masons,  surrounding  the  little  deserted 
child  ; “ and  no  home,  and  you  do  not  know 
where  to  sleep  at  night?  Where  did  your 
uncle  live  ? What  did  he  do  ? Did  he  not 
leave  any  property  ? ” 


70 


CECIL. 


These  questions  followed  one  another  in  such 
rapid  succession,  that  Cecil  had  no  opportunity 
to  reply.  Father  La  Tuile  interrupted  them 
all  exclaiming — 

“ If  you  ask  so  many  questions  at  once  how 
do  you  expect  the  boy  to  answer  them  ? Now 
listen,  comrades,  to  his  story.” 

Cecil,  who  during  all  these  questions  had 
appeared  bewildered,  now  spoke : 

“ I was  born  in  Bordeaux.  I arrived  in 
# 

Paris  yesterday  morning.  An  hour  afterwards 
I was  alone.  Now  1 am  a poor,  forsaken  child. 
This  is  my  history.” 

“ Forsaken!  By  whom?”  asked  all  the 
masons  at  once. 

“ I cannot  tell  you  that,  gentlemen,  for  it 
would  do  him  injury.  If  you  should  meet  him 
in  the  street,  you  would  throw  stones  at  him  ; 
and,  besides,  it  would  pain  his  father  very  much, 
who  was  so  good,  and  who  is  now  in  heaven 
with  the  good  God.  No,  I cannot  tell  you.” 


THE  WORKMEN. 


71 


<(  Well,  this  is  a strange  child,”  said  all  the 
men,  looking  at  one  another;  “ he  has  been 
ill-treated  and  abandoned,  and  he  will  not  tell 
by  whom  ! ” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  one  of  the  workmen,  “ it  is 
because  he  has  nothing  to  tell  ; he  is  a little 
rogue  who  has  run  away  from  his  parents.” 

“ And  why  should  I have  run  away  from 
my  parents  ?”  asked  Cecil,  the  blood  mounting 
to  his  cheeks. 

“ Because  you  did  something  naughty,  and 
were  afraid  of  being  whipped.” 

“I  wish  that  was  the  truth,”  said  Cecil. 
%c  Yes,  I wish  it  were  so.  I would  much 
rather  have  a home  to  go  to,  with  the  chance 
of  getting  a whipping  as  soon  as  I entered  the 
house,  than  not  to  have  a home  at  all.” 

“ Then  why  do  you  not  tell  the  truth  ? ” 

“ Listen,”  said  Cecil,  who,  indignam 
being  misjudged,  had  become  quite  energetic 
“ if  you,  or  you,  or  you,  Sir,  had  a brother, 


72 


CECIL. 


cousin,  or  any  relation  who  had  done  a wick- 
ed action,  you  would  not  tell  of  it,  would 
you  ? ” 

“ No/’  they  all  answered  ; “ but  we  would 
punish  him  for  it.” 

“ Very  well  ! I cannot  punish  him,  because 
I am  smaller  than  he, — and  besides,  he  is  far 
away  ; but  notwithstanding  all  that,  I am  his 
victim.” 

“ What  can  we  do  for  him  ? ” consulted 
the  men  together.  “ He  probably  does  not 
know  where  to  get  any  breakfast  this  morning.” 

cc  That  is  very  true,”  said  Cecil. 

“ For  his  breakfast  this  morning,  comrades’, 
said  one  of  the  workmen  to  the  others,  “ let  us 
each  give  him  a small  portion  of  ours,  and  that 
will  make  him  a good  meal.” 

“ That  is  just  like  Bourguignon,”  said  his 
neighbor ; “ he  only  thinks  of  the  present  mo- 
ment * When  the  poor  child  has  breakfasted 
how  is  he  to  get  any  dinner  or  supper ! ” 


THE  WORKMEN. 


73 


“We  will  give  him  some  of  ours  again, 
Poitevin,”  said  Bourguignon. 

“ But  we  cannot  provide  for  him  always,” 
replied  Poitevin.  “ If  he  were  only  strong 
enough,  he  could  commence  an  apprentice- 
ship.” 

“ True,  we  cannot  provide  for  him  always,” 
repeated  the  invalid.  “ If  he  were  only  big 
enough,  he  could  enter  the  army.” 

“Well  we  must  find  out  what  he  can  do,” 
replied  the  foreman. 

But,  just  as  they  were  preparing  to  examine 
him,  a wagon  stopped  before  the  house,  from 
which  a gentleman  alighted.  The  workmen 
quickly  dispersed,  all  of  them  seizing  their 
various  tools,  and  in  an  instant  they  were 
busily  employed,  leaving  Cecil  and  his  dog 
to  themselves. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  ARCHITECT  WHO  IS  LOOKING  FOR  A 
GROOM. 

“ Not  yet  at  work  ? ” said  the  gentleman 
from  the  wagon  angrily,  for  he  had  not  been 
duped  by  the  sudden  industry  of  the  workmen. 

“ I will  explain  the  whole  affair  to  you,  Mr. 
Dumont,”  replied  the  foreman.  “We  quite 
forgot  ourselves  while  listening  to  this  poor 
child,  whose  history  is  so  interesting  that  he 
has  nearly  made  fools  of  us  all,  and  set  us 
blubbering.” 

“And  pray  what  is  his  history?”  questioned 
Mr.  Dumont,  glancing  at  Cecil,  who  bashfully 
hung  down  his  head. 

“We  don’t  exactly  know,  Sir;  but  it’s  all 
one — it’s  very  interesting,  that  I can  tell  you.” 


LOOKING  FOR  A GROOM. 


75 


At  this  juncture  the  old  soldier  stepped 
forward,  and  said : “ Sir,  when  this  good 

man  says  he  don’t  know  the  child’s  history, 
he  partly  speaks  the  truth,  and  partly  he  does 
not  speak  the  truth.  Take  a pinch  of  snuff, 
Sir  ? What,  you  don’t  make  use  of  any  ? 
Ah  ! I beg  your  pardon.” 

He  then  in  a few  words  explained  in  what 
manner  he  had  found  the  boy,  and  repeated 
every  thing  which  Cecil  had  told  him,  as  well 
as  his  reasons  for  not  mentioning  the  name  of 
the  relation,  by  whom  he  was  abandoned. 

“ Nonsense  ! A parcel  of  lies  ! A little 
vagabond!  A little  hypocrite!”  muttered 
the  architect,  glancing  suspiciously  at  the 
child,  who,  to  conceal  his  confusion,  com- 
menced caressing  his  dog.  “ What  is  your 
name?”  demanded  Mr.  Dumont  abruptly. 

“ Cecil  Fernand.” 

“ And  you  have  no  father,  no  mother,  no 
relations,  nobody  to  take  care  of  you  ? ” 


76 


CECIL, 


Cecil  hid  his  face  on  the  neck  of  the  dog  to 
conceal  the  tears  that  sprang  to  his  eyes. 

“ And  you  were  abandoned  yesterday  morn- 
ing in  the  Tuileries,  and  you  do  not  choose  to 
say  by  whom  ? ” 

Cecil  shook  his  head  mournfully. 

“ What  do  you  know  how  to  do  ? ” 

“'Nothing,  Sir/’  replied  the  child  with  a 
sigh  that  was  half  a sob. 

“ Your  parents,  then,  did  not  teach  you  . 
anything  ? ” 

“Oh  yes,  Sir,  that  they  did — a great  many 
things  ! ” replied  Cecil  with  animation.  “ My 
uncle  had  taught  me  to  write,  and  I have 
studied  geography  and  arithmetic,  and  a little 
Latin,  and  I have  learned  to  play  upon  the 
violin,  and  to  dance — -and — 55 
“ Your  uncle,  then,  was  rich  ? ” 

“ I do  not  know,  Sir ; but  the  house  was 
full  of  fine  things,  and  we  never  wanted  any- 


LOOKING  FOR  A GROOM. 


77 


“ And  your  uncle  is  dead  ? 55 
Cecil  bowed  his  head,  for  he  could  not 
command  his  voice  to  reply.  A momentary 
silence  ensued.  The  architect  was  atten- 
tively scanning  the  delicate  features  and  fragile 
appearance  of  the  young  orphan. 

“ How  old  are  you?55  asked  he,  at  length. 
“ Twelve  years  old,  Sir.55 
“ Can  you  ride  on  horseback  ? 55 
“ Yes,  Sir,55  replied  Cecil  proudly;  “ with 
stirrups  and  without  stirrups.  My  uncle  had 
plenty  of  horses  at  his  country-seat.55 

“ You  are  a fine  looking  little  fellow  ; you 
would  make  an  excellent  groom.  Will  you 
enter  my  service  ? 55 

“ No,  Sir,55  replied  Cecil  determinedly. 

“ Hoity-toity  ! And  why  do  you  object, 
pray  ? 55 

“ Because  I do  not  choose  to  be  a servant.55 
“You  do  not,  eh?  I suppose  you  prefer 

being  a little  lazy  beggar?55  answered  the 
7* 


78 


CECIL. 


architect  in  an  angry  tone.  “ Very  well  ; be 
off1!  Go  about  your  business  at  once.  And 
take  care  that  I don’t  se^  eyes  upon  you  again, 
or  I shall  have  you  taken  up  as  a vagrant,  and 
put  into  prison.” 

“Oh,  Sir,”  said  Cecil,  clasping  his  hands 
imploringly  together,  “ pray — for  pity’s  sake 
do  not  do  that!  I am  not  lazy — I am  not 
a vagabond!  I would  not  be  your  servant; 
but  if  you  will  give  me  some  work,  I will  do 
what  I can.  I will  carry  stones,  or  lime ; I 
will  help  the  masons,  and  learn  to  be  a mason 
— but  I cannot  be  your  servant ; indeed,  Sir, 
I feel  as  though  I ought  not  to  be.” 

“ You  little  fool  ! It  is  much  easier  to  be 
a groom  than  a mason.  A servant  has  very 
little  to  do.” 

“ I do  not  care  for  that,  Sir.  I cannot  be 
a servant.” 

“ But  you  will  have  nothing  to  do  but  ride 
behind  my  carriage,  or  on  my  horses.” 


LOOKING  FOR  A GROOM. 


79 


“Then  I should  only  learn  idle  habits;  and 
I should  be  obliged  to  associate  with  the  ser- 
vants, which  my  uncle  always  forbade  me  to 
do ; and  I should  become — no,  no,  Sir,  I 
cannot  be  your  groom.” 

“Enough  said  on  that  subject — go!  be  off! 
And  take  care  that  I do  not  catch  you.  Do 
you  hear  me  ! Go  ! I tell  you.” 

The  architect  lifted  his  cane  with  a menac- 
ing air,  and  Cecil  making  a sign  for  the  dog 
to  follow  him,  bowed  to  Mr.  Dumont,  and 
said,  with  more  dignity  than  could  have  been 
expected  from  a child — 

“ Do  not  strike  me,  Sir,  I am  not  your 
servant ; therefore  you  have  no  right  to  strike 
me!” 

Cecil  had  not  walked  a great  distance  before 
a “hist!  hist!”  which  proceeded  from  behind 
him,  made  him  turn  his  head.  The  old  sol- 
dier hobbled  towards  him  and  said,  “ here  is 
some  bread,  which  the  workmen  sent  you. 


80 


CECIL. 


You  are  a noble  boy — you  spoke  as  a gen- 
tleman’s son  should  have  done.  If  you  can’t 
find  a place  to  sleep  in  to-night,  come  back 
here.” 

“ I cannot  do  that,”  said  Cecil ; “ that 

wicked  man  has  threatened  to  have  me  taken 
up — but  I thank  you  from  my  heart.” 

He  took  the  enormous  slice  of  brown  bread, 
which  his  friend  offered  him,  and  proceeded 
on  his  way. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


A PROMENADE  IN  PARIS. 

Once  more  the  young  orphan  found  himself 
alone  in  the  streets  of  Paris.  In  one  hand  he 
held  the  string  which  was  fastened  around  his 
dog’s  neck,  and  in  the  other  the  slice  of  bread. 
Beneath  his  arm  he  carried  his  little  book  con 
taining  the  memoirs  of  Robinson  Crusoe. 

“ The  first  thing  that  Robinson  did  in  his 
desert  island,”  said  Cecil  to  himself,  “ was  to 
make  the  rounds  and  see  where  he  was  ; ” 
and  with  these  words  he  commenced  eating 
his  bread,  occasionally  throwing  small  bits  to 
his  dog,  and  gazing  in  at  the  window's  of  the 
beautiful  shops  that  he  met  at  every  step. 

u Surely  I shall  never  starve  in  this  Paris, 
where  there  are  bakers  and  confectioners,  and 


82 


CECIL. 


eating  houses  at  every  block.  And  as  for  a 
place  to  sleep  in,  surely  I can  find  lodgings, 
where  there  are  so  many  beautiful  houses  with 
all  the  doors  thrown  invitingly  open.  As  foi 
the  people,  they  don’t  look  much  as  if  they 
would  eat  me  up,  as  poor  Robinson  Crusoe 
feared  the  cannibals  would  eat  him.  Courage  ! 
courage  ! ” And  he  stopped  before  a tailor’s 
store. 

The  tailor,  who  happened  to  be  standing  in 
front  of  his  shop,  looked  at  him,  and  said:  “If 
you  wTant  any  new  clothes,  young  gentleman, 
come  in  ; we  keep  a superior  quality  here.” 

“ Thank  you,  Sir,”  replied  Cecil,  delighted 
with  the  courteous  mien  of  the  storekeeper, 
“ my  coat  is  quite  new,  but  when  it  is  worn 
out  I shall  certainly  come  here.” 

“ That  is  right ; we  will  suit  you,  my  little- 
friend  ; no  fear  but  we  will  suit  you.” 

Cecil  walked  a little  further,  and  was  stop 
ped  by  a man  who  was  selling  canes. 


A PROMENADE  IN  PARIS. 


83 


“ Look  at  this  cane,  young  Sir ; a little 
cane  would  become  you  so  well ! Try  this 
one — it  is  small  and  pliable, — it  looks  as  if  it 
was  made  for  you.  You  may  have  it  for  a 
mere  trifle — almost  nothing.” 

“ Thank  you — thank  you  kindly,”  replied 
Cecil  ; “ I will  not  take  one  to-day,”  and  he 
passed  on. 

Emboldened  by  the  pleasant  manners  of  the 
two  merchants,  he  walked  confidently  into  a 
large  hotel,  for  it  was  about  mid-day,  and  the 
sun  pained  his  head. 

“ What  do  you  want  here?”  called  out  the 
door-keeper. 

“ The  sun  is  very  warm,”  said  Cecil,  bow- 
ing politely;  “ could  you  not  permit  me  to 
rest  here  for  a few  moments  ?” 

“Be  off  with  you,  you  little  vagabond,” 
replied  the  man,  closing  the  door  in  the  child’s 
face. 

Cecil  was  lost  in  wonder,  and  stood  gazing 


84 


CECIL. 


at  the  closed  door  some  minutes  without  seem- 
ing to  realize  that  it  was  really  shut.  “ No , 
matter,”  thought  he  at  last,  “ I shall  not  find 
all  the  world  in  such  a bad  humor  as  this  old 
man.” 

At  a short  distance  from  the  hotel  stood  a 
booth,  the  counter  of  which  contained  nume- 
rous delicacies,  and  various  enough  in  their 
kinds  to  please  every  palate.  On  the  step  of 
the  booth  stood  a young  man,  who  looked  as 
though  he  had  not  despised  his  own  dainties. 
Cecil  stopped  immediately  in  front  of  the  man, 
and  looked  up  into  his  face  without  daring  to 
speak. 

“ Do  you  want  something  to  eat,  my  little 
friend?”  asked  the  man. 

“Oh!  yes,  Sir;  I have  eaten  nothing  to- 
day but  a piece  of  bread  this  morning.” 

“ Come  in,  come  in,»  and  take  a choice  of 
these  niceties,”  said  the  man,  in  the  most 
amiable  manner  possible. 


A PROMENADE  IN  PARIS. 


85 


“ But  I must  tell  you  beforehand,”  said 
Cecil,  following  the  shop-keeper  into  the  mid- 
dle of  his  booth,  “ that  I have  no  money — not 
a cent.” 

“ Then,  what  business  have  you  here  ? ” 
replied  he,  the  smile  instantly  vanishing  from 
his  countenance. 

“ I am  an  unfortunate  child,  who  has  been 
abandoned  by  his  guardian  in  this  city,”  re- 
plied Cecil  ; “ I am  tired,  and  warm,  and 

very  hungry ” 

“I  am  sorry  for  you,”  answered  the  man 
coolly.  “ There  is  something  for  you — take 
it — go,  and  don’t  stop  the  passage.” 

When  Cecil  saw  the  single  cent  which  ac- 
companied these  words,  his  cheeks  flushed, 
and  he  could  hardly  restrain  his  indignation. 
“ I am  not  a beggar,  Sir  ; I did  not  ask  for 
money,”  said  he. 

“ You  will  get  nothing  here — so  make  your- 
self scarce.” 

8 


86 


CECIL. 


Cecil  obeyed,  and  walked  on  ; but  he  was 
so  fatigued  that  his  legs  trembled  beneath  him, 
and  even  the  dog  drooped  his  ears  and  let  his 
tail  drop  between  his  legs,  while  his  tongue 
hung  from  his  mouth. 

As  he  was  traversing  the  Boulevards,  which 
is  one  of  the  widest  and  gayest  streets  in  Paris, 
Cecil  observed  a number  of  chairs  standing 
upon  the  side-walk  beneath  the  shade  of  some 
fine  old  trees.  Hastily  advancing  towards 
them,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  nearest  one, 
too  exhausted,  faint,  and  sick  at  heart,  even 
to  look  around  him. 

. M 

Hardly  was  he  seated  before  an  old  woman 
placed  herself  in  front  of  him,  silently  extend- 
ing her  hand. 

“ What  do  you  wish  ? ” asked  Cecil. 

“ Two  cents  for  your  chair,  to  be  sure  ! 99 

“ What  ! you  have  fifty  empty  chairs  here, 
and  you  will  not  let  me  occupy  one  without 
paying  you  ? ” 


Cecil,  the  old  Chair- Woman,  and  the  Chimney-Sweep. 


V ' 


« 


«#% 


/ 


A PROMENADE  IN  PARIS. 


87 


“ Certainly  not ; your  two  cents,  if  you 
please,  young  inaster.55 

“ I have  not  two  cents/5  replied  Cecil  with- 
out stirring. 

“Then  sit  upon  the  ground/5  said  the  wo- 
man, shaking  the  chair  upon  which  Cecil  was 
resting  so  violently,  that  he  could  with  diffi- 
culty retain  his  place. 

“ You  are  not  a good  woman/5  said  Cecil 
rising. 

“ I am  the  mistress  of  these  chairs/5  replied 
the  woman,  quietly  seating  herself  in  the  very 
chair  Cecil  had  vacated. 

“ Ha,  ha,  ha,  he5s  got  no  money,  and  he 
sits  down  like  a prince  ! Come,  and  sit  here, 
little  friend ; 55  said  a childish  voice,  with  a 
very  provincial  accent. 

Cecil  turned  round,  and  saw  a little  boy, 
so  begrimed  with  dirt,  that  he  at  first  thought 
he  must  be  a negro.  The  urchin  was  seated 
on  the  steps  of  a large  eating  house,  and  a 


88 


CECIL. 


young  monkey  rested  on  his  shoulder.  Cecil 
was  so  tired  that  he  gladly  accepted  the  in- 
vitation, and  placed  himself  beside  the  boy. 
Fox  curled  himself  up  between  Cecil’s  feet, 
and  the  children  soon  entered  into  conversa- 
tion. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE  FIRST  LESSON  IN  INDUSTRY. 

“You  look  very  tired,  and  quite  down  in  the 
mouth,”  began  the  master  of  the  monkey. 

“ Oh  ! if  I was  only  in  a desert  island,  like 
Robinson  Crusoe  ! ” exclaimed  Cecil. 

His  new  acquaintance  burst  into  a fit  of 
laughter,  and  when  his  merriment  subsided, 
he  said,  “What  do  you  want  to  be  in  a de- 
sert island  for?  Do  you  want  to  starve  to 
death  ? ” 

“ Have  you  read  Robinson  Crusoe  ? ” was 
Cecil’s  question,  in  reply. 

“ I never  read  a line  in  my  life — why, 
I can’t  read  ? But  what  is  this  Robinson 
Crusoe  ? ” 

“ This  little  book  tells  all  about  him.  He 
8* 

y 


90 


CECIL. 


was  a little  boy,  who  was  left  on  a desert 
island,  all  alone. 

“ That  was  a pretty  pickle  to  be  in,  cer- 
tainly. And  so,  I suppose,  he  died  ?” 

“ No,  he  did  n’t,  though.  He  made  out 
very  well,  and  he  formed  a colony,  and  be- 
came a chief ; and  he  did  a great  many  won- 
derful things.” 

“ Ah,  now  I understand  it — it  is  a fairy 
tale.” 

“ No,  it  is  not — it  is  a true  story.” 

“ But  how  can  that  be  ? I know  what  a 
desert  island  is  well  enough,  for  I heard  a 
man  talking  to  my  father  about  one.  It  is  a 
place  where  there  is  no  houses  and  no  people, 
and  how  can  one  live  where  there  are  no 
people  ?” 

“ But  for  all  that,  I would  rather  have  been 
abandoned  on  a desert  island,  where  there  are 
no  people,  than  in  this  great  Paris  where  there 
are  so  many  cruel  people.” 


THE  FIRST  LESSON  IN  INDUSTRY.  91 


“ Ah,  what  nonsense  you  talk  ! ” 

“ Nonsense  ! nonsense,  indeed  ! ” said  Ce- 
cil, rousing  himself.  “ If  1 was  on  a desert 
island,  like  Robinson  Crusoe’s,  I could  do 
what  I pleased — I could  sit  down  where  I 
pleased — and  sleep  where  I pleased — and  eat 

what  I pleased — and ” 

“ But  what  could  you  get  to  eat  ? ” 

“ Listen,  and  I will  tell  you  all  about  it. 
This  Robinson  Crusoe  was  left  upon  a desert 
island,  where  he  made  himself  a little  grotto, 
and  slept  quite  well,  I assure  you  ; and  he 
planted  trees  around  his  grotto — and  he  shot 
birds,  and  made  snares  for  rabbits — and  fished 
— and  made  himself  clothes  out  of  the  skins 
of  wild  beasts — and,  one  day,  he  found  a 
negro,  and  he  made  him  his  servant,  and — 
and — oh  ! I would  a thousand  times  rather 
be  on  such  an  island  than  here — would  not 
you  ? ” 

“ No,  that  I would  not.  I like  Paris.” 


92 


CECIL. 


“ j\nd  what  do  you  like  Paris  for  ? ” 

“ Because,  here  one  can  work.” 

“ Work  ? work  ? ” he  repeated  ; “ and  can 
you  work  ? ” 

“ What  a queer  question  ! How  else  could 
Ilive?” 

“ But  what  work  can  you  do  ? — you  are 
such  a little  fellow  ! ” 

“ Why,  in  the  winter  I sweep  chimneys, 
and  in  the  summer  I carry  about  this  little 
monkey,  and  I make  him  dance  and  cut  up 
capers — and — ” 

“ But  you  sa\d  work— how  do  you  work  1 
That  is  not  working — but  I am  larger  than 
you,  and  I could  work  in  earnest.” 

“ To  be  sure  ! ” 

“But  what  could  I do  ? I could  not  sweep 
chimneys : I should  break  my  neck.” 

“ I could  teach  you  : but  then  you  would 
nave  nothing  to  do  in  the  summer,  and  you 
are  so  nice  and  clean,  I don’t  believe  your 


THE  FIRST  LESSON  IN  INDUSTRY.  93 

mother  would  like  to  see  you  all  smutted  with 
soot.” 

“ Ah  ! but  I have  no  mother,  and  no  father 
neither,”  replied  Cecil,  ready  to  burst  into 
tears. 

“ Then  why  did  you  come  to  the  city  ? 
Look  at  me — my  father  and  mother  are  poor, 
as  poor  as  they  can  be,  and  they  have  ten 
children : I am  the  second  : my  eldest  bro- 
ther is  a boot-black  ; ah  ! he  makes  a deal  of 
money,  I can  tell  you.” 

“ And  he  gives  you  some  ? ” 

“ Not  he  ; but  he  sends  money  to  my  mo- 
ther, and  I make  money  for  myself  by  my 
little  monkey.” 

“ I wish  I had  a monkey,”  said  Cecil. 

“ You  have  got  a dog — but  dogs  are  too 
common  now;  they  don’t  do  as  well  as  mon- 
keys. But  you  know  you  could  beg.” 

“ That  I would  not  do  for  all  the  world!” 
“Well,  can’t  you  sing?  This  great  house 


94 


CECIL. 


Dehind  us  is  a coffee-house,  and  rich  people 
go  there  to  dine.  If  you  could  only  sing, 
and  were  not  afraid,  you  might  make  some 
money  in  there.  But,  look  ! that  is  my  big 
brother  yonder.  He  wants  me.  Good  by  ! 1 
I hope  I shall  see  you  again.” 

The  little  boy  got  up,  and,  taking  his  mon- 
key in  his  arms,  was  soon  lost  in  the  crowd, 
and  once  more  poor  Cecil  felt  alone  in  the 
world. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


THE  REMNANTS  OF  THE  CHICKEN THE  PIECE 

OF  BREAD  AND  THE  GLASS  OF  WATER. 

For  several  hours  Cecil  sat  motionless  upon 
the  steps  of  the  eating-house.  At  length  one 
of  the  waiters  approached  him  and  said,  “ What 
are  you  doing  there  little  boy  t ” 

“ Nothing/’  replied  Cecil,  dblefully. 

“ Then  go  about  your  business.” 

“ But  will  you  not  let  me  rest  here,  Sir  ? ” 
said  Cecil,  in  a tone  of  half  querulous  despair. 

“ Certainly  not.  It  is  just  the  hour  for 
dinner,  and  we  cannot  permit  the  steps  of 
the  house  to  be  encumbered  by  lounging 
children.  Come,  get  up?” 

Cecil  rose — the  dog  did  the  same,  and  the 
two  wanderers,  looking  at  each  other  with  an 


96 


CECIL. 


air  which  seemed  to  say,  “ wh^re  shall  we  go 
now  ? ” walked  away. 

As  though  instinctively  desirous  of  leading 
the  way,  and  of  protecting  his  master,  the 
dog  walked  in  front  of  Cecil.  At  last  they 
came  to  a coffee-house,  before  which  the  dog 
paused,  apparently  to  inhale  the  grateful  odor 
of  the  viands.  Cecil  followed  his  example. 
Before  the  boy  could  foresee  his  dog’s  inten- 
tion, Fox  threw  himself  against  the  half  open 
door,  and  disappeared  in  the  long  entry. 

“Fox!  Fox!  where  are  you  going?” 
shouted  Cecil  ; but  the  dog  did  not  return. 

“ As  soon  as  the  people  in  this  house  see 
poor  Fox  they  will  chase  him  out  of  doors  ; 
therefore  I may  as  well  wait  for  him  here,” 
thought  Cecil,  as  he  seated  himself  on  the 
door-step. 

Meanwhile  Fox  had  made  his  way  to  the 
kitchen.  He  was  so  small  and  so  black  that 
for  some  time  he  ran  about  unperceived,  licking 


THE  REMNANTS  OF  THE  CHICKEN.  97 


up  the  gravy  that  now  and  then  flowed  from 
some  carelessly-held  dish,  or  appeasing  his 
hunger  with  small  bits  that  had  been  flung 
beneath  the  table.  After  a while,  a little  boy 
who  was  assisting  one  of  the  cooks  caught 
sight  of  him. 

“ Oh  ! look  at  that  pretty  little  dog  ! ” ex- 
claimed he.  “ Where  does  he  come  from? 
Here,  doggie  ! doggie  ! ” 

3 oo  oo 

Attracted  by  the  childish  voice,  Fox  leaped 
upon  the  boy  and  fondly  licked  the  hand 
which  caressed  him.  At  that  moment  one 
of  the  waiters  placed  upon  the  table  a dish 
which  contained  the  remnant  of  a chicken, 
saying,  “throw  that  away  and  wash  the  dish.” 

The  little  boy  left  the  dog  to  obey  the  or- 
der ; but  Fox  followed  him,  wagging  his  tail 
and  looking  supplicatingly  into  his  face,  then 
glancing  sideways  at  the  dish,  and  rubbing  his 
nose  against  the  urchin’s  hand. 

“ Are  you  hungry,  little  dog  ? ” said  the 

9 


98 


CECIL. 


boy,  kindly,  ana  presenting  the  dish  to  him. 
“ Here  ! ” 

The  dog  looked  at  the  dish,  then  at  the 
boy,  and  waggec(  his  tail  harder  than  before. 

“ Take,”  said  the  child,  making  an  encour- 
aging sign  to  the  animal. 

The  dog  seized  the  piece  of  chicken  be- 
tween his  teeth  and  ran  from  the  kitchen. 

“ Well,  where  are  you  going?”  cried  the 
boy  ; “ Here  ! here  ! ” 

But  the  dog  did  not  return,  and  desirous  as 
was  his  new-found  friend  to  follow  him,  he 
dared  not  abandon  his  post,  and  commenced 
washing  the  dishes. 

He  had  just  made  a large  pile  of  them, 
when  he  felt  something  warm  touching  his 
feet,  and  looking  down,  beheld  the  little  dog 
crouching  beside  him. 

“Well!  there  you  are!”  said  the  delighted 
boy.  “ I suppose  you  want  something  more 
to  eat  ? ” 


THE  REMNANTS  OF  THE  CHICKEN.  99 


The  dog,  as  though  he  comprehended  him, 
wagged  his  tail  and  looked  up  supplicatingly. 

“ I have  only  got  this  piece  of  bread  for 
you,  little  dog  ; will  you  have  it  ? ” 

Fox  caught  at  the  offered  bread,  and  again 
escaped  from  the  kitchen. 

“ What  a queer  little  animal ! ” exclaimed 
the  boy.  “ I wonder  where  he  goes  to  devour 
what  I give  him.” 

“ What  are  you  talking  to  yourself  about, 
you  little  rascal  ? ” demanded  the  head  cook. 

“ Oh  ! Mr.  Chipart,  a moment  ago  such  a 
beautiful  little  black  dog  ran  in  here,  and  he 
took  the  bits  I gave  him  so  politely  ; but  he 
ran  away  to  eat  them- — I can’t  think  where.” 

“ If  he  comes  back,”  said  the  cook,  “ be 
sure  you  tell  me.  I dote  upon  a handsome 
dog.” 

“ Oh ! here  he  is  ! ” cried  the  boy  in  ec- 
stacy. 

“ Poor  fellow  ! poor  fellow  ! ” said  the  cook, 


S 


100 


CECIL. 


eaving  his  work  to  take  a nearer  survey  of 

the  dog,  who  held  his  mouth  open  as  though 

ready  to  take  whatever  might  be  offered  to 

him.  “ Oh  ! what  a pretty  fellow  ! But  he 

hangs  his  tongue  out  of  his  mouth — he  must 
© © 

be  thirsty.  Baptiste,  give  him  a drink : take 
good  care  of  him.  I must  go  back  to  my 
fire — but  take  care  of  him,  and  see  that  he 
don’t  run  away.” 

“ Look,  Mr.  Chipart,  he  won’t  drink,”  said 
Baptiste,  pointing  at  Fox  with  his  finger  ; for 
the  dog  was  standing  by  the  table,  looking 
from  the  water  to  the  boy,  and  from  the  boy  to 
the  water,  as  though  he  would  beg  him  to  do 
something,  which  it  was  difficult  to  express. 

“ Perhaps  he  wants  to  go  and  drink  in  the 
secret  corner  where  he  eats — go  carry  the 
water  wherever  he  pleases,  but  be  sure  you 
do  not  lose  sight  of  him.” 

When  Fox  saw  the  little  boy  take  up  the 
Dowl  he  gave  a leap  for  joy — ran  towards 


THE  REMNANTS  OF  THE  CHICKEN.  101 


the  kitchen  door,  then  back  to  the  table 
beside  which  Baptiste  stood,  and  then  flew 
to  the  door  again.  Finding  that  the  boy 
followed  him,  he  sprang  into  the  entry  and 
led  the  way  up  the  stairs,  ever  and  anon 
looking  back  to  see  if  Baptiste  was  behind. 


9* 


I 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

WHAT  BECAME  OF  THE  REMNANTS  OF  CHICKEN, 
THE  PIECE  OF  BREAD,  AND  THE  GLASS  OF 
WATER. 

We  left  Cecil  seated  upon  the  door-step  of 
the  coffee  house,  anxiously  glancing  at  the 
passage  through  which  his  dog  had  disappear- 
ed, but  not  daring  to  enter.  After  some  time 
had  passed,  Cecil  almost  despaired  of  again 
beholding  his  cherished  dog,  and  began  to  feel 
sadder  and  more  lonely  than  ever.  Just  as 
he  was  burying  his  face  in  his  hands  he  felt 
something  brushing  against  him,  and  turning, 
beheld  Fox.  The  poor  animal  held  something 
in  his  mouth,  which  he  carefully  laid  on  the 
knees  of  Cecil,  briskly  wagging  his  tail  and 


WHAT  BECAME  OF  THE  REMNANTS.  103 


licking  his  lips,  as  though  he  would  say, 
“ Eat,  but  don’t  forget  me.” 

“ Where  did  you  get  that  ? ” inquired  Ce- 
cil, half  unconsciously  talking  to  the  dog,  as 
though  he  could  understand.  “ Ah ! you 

stole  it,  you  little  thief.” 

Fox  made  a hasty  movement,  accompanied 
by  a half  growl,  as  though  he  was  indignant 
at  the  accusation. 

“ Did  any  body  give  it  to  you  ?”  continued 
Cecil. 

The  silence  of  the  dog  seemed  to  answer 
affirmatively. 

“It  is  a good  bit  of  chicken,”  said  Cecil, 
looking  at  the  meat,  without  touching  it. 
“ Very  good  indeed  ; as  good  as  I ever  ate 
at  my  uncle’s  table;  but,  Fox,  I ought  to 
have  a piece  of  bread  to  eat  with  it. 

The  dog  ran  off  as  though  he  had  really 
understood  his  master;  and  when  he  reap- 
pears J,  it  was  with  a piece  of  bread  in  his 


104 


CECIL, 


mouth.  Cecil  could  not  help  kissing  him, 
and  said  in  a tone  full  of  gratitude, 

“ Oh  ! if  I am  like  Robinson  Crusoe,  you 
are  my  man  Friday  ! Good  Fox  ! Dear  Fox! 
Charming  little  Fox!  Now  let  us  eat  our 
dinner  together.  ” 

Fox  took  his  place  in  front  of  his  master, 
and  it  was  curious  to  see  these  two  creatures 
- — the  one  a rational  being,  and  the  other 
hardly  less  so,  although  but  a dumb  brute, 
and  both  apparently  gifted  with  intelligence 
and  sensibility,  dining  together,  dividing  every 
morsel,  and  equally  enjoying  every  mouthful. 

“ The  bones  are  for  you,  and  the  flesh  for 
me ; the  soft  part  of  the  bread  for  you,  Fox, 
and  the  crust  for  me,  Fox  ! ” And  then  the 
two  caressed  one  another,  each  in  his  own 
way  ; the  hand  of  the  child  softly  patted  the 
back  of  the  dog,  and  the  tongue  of  the  dog 
licked  the  hand  of  the  child.  They  seemed 
like  two  dear  friends,  who  had  been  reared 


WHAT  BECAME  OF  THE  REMNANTS.  105 


together,  and  yet  a few  hours  before,  they 
%had  never  seen  each  other.  It  was  misfor- 
tune which  united  them — misfortune,  which 
gives  birth  to  more  friendships  than  prosperity. 
Pleasure  may  bring  persons  together,  but  sor- 
row unites  them.  He  who  does  not  suffer 
may  want  a companion,  but  he  who  suffers 
needs  a friend. 

“ Oh  ! I am  very  thirsty  ! ” exclaimed 
Cecil,  when  the  repast  was  finished.  Either 
the  dog  understood  him  or  he  experienced 
the  same  sensation,  for  away  he  ran  for  the 
third  time.  Cecil  did  not  sit  listening  long 
before  he  heard  the  patting  of  his  dog’s  feet 
— but  not  them  alone,  but  he  clearly  distin- 
guished heavier  steps,  which  accompanied 
those  of  little  Fox. 

“ They  are  the  steps  of  the  master  of  the 
house,”  thought  Cecil,  in  a panic  of  terror — 
“ no  doubt  he  is  angry — -he  is  coming  to  make 
me  pay  for  the  bread  and  chicken.  Oh ! holy 


106 


CECIL. 


Father,  thou  who  dicTst  permit  the  dog  to 
relieve  my  wants,  protect  me  now  ! ” # 

The  steps  approached,  and  Cecil  trem- 
blingly raised  his  eyes.  Instead  of  the  giant 
of  a man,  in  a fearful  passion,  and  raising  a 
stout  cane,  which  he  expected  to  see,  he  be- 
held the  delicate  form  and  fresh  laughing 
countenance  of  a child,  neither  larger  nor 
stronger  than  himself,  who  held  a bowl  of 
water  in  his  hand. 

When  Baptiste  saw  a bone  of  the  chicken 
in  Cecil’s  hand,  and  observed  that  Fox  had 
already  curled  himself  up  at  the  child’s  feet, 
he  said, 

“ Then  the  bread  and  the  chicken  were  for 
you,  and  the  water  also  ? ” 

“ To  be  sure  they  were,”  replied  Cecil, 
at  once  reassured  ; “ for  me  and  my  darling 
Fox ! ” 

u Well,  that  is  funny  ! it  is  the  queerest 
thing  I ever  heard  of!”  said  Baptiste,  who 


WHAT  BECAME  OF  THE  REMNANTS.  107 


in  bis  surprise  would  have  let  fall  the  bowl 
of  water,  had  not  Cecil  caught  it. 

“ Oh,  what  a dear,  strange,  faithful  little 
dog ! ” exclaimed  Baptiste,  running  back  into 
the  kitchen.  “ Come  and  see — come  and  see 
— the  strangest  thing — the  dear  little  fellow — 

o o 

come  ! ” 

And  Baptiste  disappeared  from  the  kitchen,  . 
followed  by  a crowd  of  cooks  and  waiters,  and 
several  little  boys,  who  assisted  them. 

“Well,  what  is  it?  what  is  it?”  they  all 
shouted  at  a time.  But  the  noise  ceased  as 
they  beheld  Cecil,  and  the  dog  drinking  from 
the  bowl,  which  had  just  been  taken  from  his 
lips. 

7 “ Then  it  was  to  see  you  that  Baptiste 

called  us  ? ” said  one  of  the  cooks. 

“ Me  and  my  dog,”  answered  Cecil*,  be- 
ginning to  get  frightened.  “ Pray,  do  not  be 
angry.” 

“ Angry  ! what  should  we  be  angry  about  ? 


108 


CECIL. 


what  a pretty  little  dog  it  is  ! It  won’t  bite, 
will  it  ? But  where  do  you  come  from,  little 
boy?  You  cannot  be  a beggar,  for  you  are 
too  well  clad — why,  then,  should  you  be 
obliged  to  dine  off  the  bits  given  to  your 
dog  ? ” 

Cecil  hardly  knew  how  to  answer ; but 
after  a momentary  silence  he  said  : “I  am 
an  unfortunate  child,  and  have  been  aban- 
doned in  the  streets  of  Paris,  I dare  not  tel! 
you  by  whom,  and  you  must  not  ask  me.  All 
that  I can  say,  is,  that  I have  eaten  nothing 
to-day  but  a slice  of  bread  and  the  bits  which 
you  gave  to  my  dog.” 

“ But  why  will  you  not  tell  us  who  aban- 
doned you  ? ” asked  the  chief  cook. 

“ Because  it  was  one  of  my  own  family, 
and  it  is  not  right  to  speak  against  one’s  own 
relations.” 

The  men  were  on  the  point  of  questioning 
Cecil  further,  when  a bell  sounded  and  the 


WHAT  BECAME  OF  THE  REMNANTS.  109 


voice  of  the  master  of  the  house  was  heard 
calling  them.  In  an  instant  they  all  fled,  but 
Baptiste,  as  he  hurried  away,  said,  “ wait  here 
a little  while,  and  I will  return.” 

Cecil  waited,  and  in  about  an  hour  Bap- 
tiste again  stood  beside  him,  with  an  old  bas- 
ket in  his  hand.  “ Are  you  very  fond  of  your 
dog?”  said  he;  “ so  fond  that  you  could  not 
part  with  him  ? ” 

“ So  fond  that  I would  as  lief  part  with  my 
eyes  ! ” replied  Cecil. 

“ Then  follow  my  advice — take  this  basket 
and  run  away  as  fast  as  you  can,  for  Mr. 
Cbipart  is  determined  to  have  the  dog  whe- 
ther you  will  or  no.” 

“ My  dog  ! But  what  right  has  he  to  it  ? ” 
asked  Cecil  indignantly. 

“ The  right  which  strength  gives.  Do  as 
I tell  you — take  this  basket — you  will  find 
something  to  eat  and  to  drink  in  it — quick  ! 

make  your  escape.” 

10 


110 


CECIL. 


Alarmed  at  the  idea  that  his  dog,  his  only 
friend,  might  be  taken  from  him  by  force, 
Cecil  hastily  took  the  basket,  fastened  the 
string  around  the  neck  of  Fox,  thanked  Bap- 
tiste, and  ran  till  he  was  out  of  sight  of  the 
house. 

It  was  now  night,  but  the  light  from  the 
gas  lamps  was  so  strong,  that  he  could  see 
his  way  as  well  as  by  daylight. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE  LITTLE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

Cecil  soon  found  himself  within  sight  of  the 
house,  where  he  had  slept  on  the  preceding 
night.  His  heart  beat  violently  as  he  ap- 
proached it.  “ Will  the  old  soldier  receive 
me?”  said  he  to  himself.  “Oh  ! how  dread- 
ful it  is  not  to  know  where  to  obtain  a night’s 
shelter  ! Augustus  ! Augustus  ! shall  I find 
all  the  world  as  cruel  as  you  ! ” 

Cecil  knocked  on  the  boards  placed  in  front 
of  the  entrance. 

“ Is  it  you,  Austerlitz  ? ” asked  a feeble  voice 
from  within. 

“ Yes,  good  father  La  Tuile  ; it  is  Aus- 
terlitz ; and  little  Robinson,  too — will  you 
receive  both  ? ” 


1 12 


CECIL. 


“ You  are  very  late,”  said  the  old  man, 
looking  out. 

“ Then  you  expected  me  ? ” inquired  Cecil 
in  surprise. 

“ Certainly,  my  little  friend  ; in  a large 
town,  where  the  doors  only  open  at  the  touch 
of  silver,  I knew  that  there  was  no  shelter  for 
empty  pockets.  Come  in — your  little  bed  is 
ready  ; here  is  your  supper.55 

“ Thank  you,  but  I have  something  to  eat 
along  with  me.55 

“Then  keep  it  for  your  breakfast.  Now 
sit  down,  and  tell  me  why  you  refused  to  be 
Mr.  Dumont’s  groom.55 

“ Because  my  uncle  did  not  educate  me  to 
become  a servant.55 

“ But  you  must  live  and  you  must  eat  ? 55 

“ Yes,  and  I must  work  too.55 

“ Pray  what  work  could  you  do  with  those 
tender  little  hands  of  yours?  But  I am 
sleepy  ; we  will  talk  to-morrow.  Good  night, 


THE  LITTLE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


113 


little  monkey  ! Tell  Austerlitz  to  wake  you 
early.” 

“ That  he  shall  do  ! Good  night,  my  kind 
friend  ! ” 

In  a few  moments  more,  the  invalid,  Cecil 
and  Fox,  were  all  fast  asleep. 

Cecil  was  awake  before  dawn,  and  lay  still 
reflecting  upon  what  he  had  better  do.  When 
the  workmen  came,  he  went  to  meet  them, 
and  said,  but  not  without  a blush,  “ here  I 
am  again,  and  I wish  I were  a mason — will 
you  teach  me  to  be  a mason  ? ” 

“ Poor  little  child!”  said  one;  “ you  are 
too  feeble  to  become  a mason.” 

“ But  I must  live,”  returned  Cecil. 

“ If  you  become  a mason,”  said  another 
of  the  workmen,  “ it  would  be  necessary 
for  you  to  serve  an  apprenticeship  : and  to 
be  an  apprentice,  you  must  pay  a certain 
sum.” 

“ I have  not  a single  cent,”  answered  Ce- 

10* 


114 


CECIL. 


cil  ; “ but,  if  you  will  teach  me  what  you 
know,  I will  teach  you  what  I know.” 

“ And  what  do  you  know  ? ” asked  the 
workman  ? ” 

“ I know  how  to  play  on  the  violin.” 

“ But  that  would  be  of  no  use  to  me.” 

“ I know  how  to  write.” 

“ But  to  write  one  must  read,  and  we  do 
not  even  know  how  to  spell.” 

“ But  I will  teach  you  to  read.” 

“ Ah  ! that  might  do.” 

“ Do  you  hear  that  ? Good  gracious  ! ” 
said  the  old  soldier,  in  admiring  astonishment. 
“What  sense  children  have  now-a-days ! The 
march  of  intellect  is  wonderful.  Why,  in  my 
time,  the  idea  of  teaching  my  neighbor  to  read, 
would  never  have  entered  into  my  head — as 
for  that  matter,  I never  knew  how  to  read 
myself.” 

“ I will  teach  you,  good,  Mr.  Invalid,”  said 
Cecil. 


THE  LITTLE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


115 


“ Thank  you,  little  monkey  ; I’m  rather 
too  old  to  learn  ; but  since  you  know  how  to 
read,  you  shall  read  to  me  about  the  battles 
of  my  Emperor.” 

“ Comrades  ! ” said  the  mason,  who  had 
been  talking  with  Cecil,  “ What  do  you  say 
to  the  child’s  plan  ? He  is  too  small  and  too 
feeble  to  learn  our  craft,  but  still  we  can  be 
of  service  to  him,  and  he  to  us.  Many  of  us 
do  not  know  how  to  read  ; he  will  teach  us 
during  our  resting  hours,  and  we  will  let  him 
share  our  repast.  Then  Father  La  Tuile  can 
give  him  a bed  ; and,  in  this  manner,  he  will 
have  food  and  shelter  for  a month  at  least.” 

The  workmen  agreed  to  their  comrade’s 
proposition  ; and,  after  breakfast,  the  self- 
constituted  little  schoolmaster  gave  them  the 
first  lesson  out  of  his  “ Adventures  of  Robinson 
Crusoe.”  The  Invalid  then  brought  forth  a 
large  parcel  of  old  newspapers,  and  said  to 
Cecil,  “ now  come  and  read  me  all  about 


116 


CECIL. 


these  battles,  little  monkey : that  will  take 
me  back  to  the  good  old  times.” 

“ The  good  old  times  in  which  men  fought 
and  killed  one  another,”  said  Cecil,  laughing. 

“ Yes,  little  monkey;  and  when  one  was 
never  sure  in  the  morning  of  finding  oneself 
whole  at  evening.” 

“ And  you  call  those  good  times,  when  one 
evening  you  found  that  you  were  not  as  whole 
as  when  you  got  up?”  demanded  Cecil, 
glancing  at  the  old  soldier’s  wooden  leg. 

“ I would  give  my  other  leg  to  see  those 
times  again!”  said  the  Invalid  with  enthusiasm. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


THE  LITTLE  SCHOOLMASTER  LOSES  HIS 
SCHOLARS. 

The  masons,  who  had  received  Cecil  as  their 
tutor,  were  ten  in  number.  They  were  all 
of  them  young  and  all  strangers,  who  were 
sojourning  in  Paris  to  finish  the  last  year  of 
their  apprenticeship.  For,  in  France,  the 
journeymen,  before  they  are  deemed  com- 
petent to  practice  their  craft,  are  obliged  to 
make  the  tour  of  the  country  and  work  a spe- 
cified time  in  every  city.  Every  day  Cecil 
gave  them  one  lesson  in  the  morning  and 
another  in  the  evening.  He  read  the  news- 
papers  to  the  Invalid,  whose  stock  seemed 
inexhaustible  ; and  the  rest  of  the  time  played 


118 


CECIL. 


with  Fox,  who  hourly  became  more  attached 
to  his  master. 

But  a new  affliction  soon  overwhelmed  poor 
Cecil.  The  house  was  completed — there  was 
no  longer  any  need  of  the  old  soldier  as  guard 
— and  the  mason  scholars  were  ready  to  con- 
tinue their  tour.  One  bright  Sunday  morning, 
which  Cecil  expected  to  pass  alone  with  his 
Invalid  friend,  much  to  the  surprise  of  the 
little  boy,  his  ten  grown-up  scholars  presented 
themselves  before  him. 

“ Good  morning,  little  schoolmaster,”  said 
they,  all  of  them  shaking  hands  with  him  in 
turn. 

“ What  ’ do  you  want  to  take  a lesson  on 
Sunday?”  asked  Cecil.  “ No,  little  school- 
master,” replied  one-of  the  troop  ; “ we  have 
come  to  bid  you  adieu  forever.” 

“ Are  you  going?”  inquired  Cecil  in  alarm. 

“Yes;  to-morrow  we  must  proceed  on  our 
journey,  but  with  the  permission  of  your  good 


CECIL  LOSES  HIS  SCHOLARS. 


119 


friend  here,  we  wished  you  to  pass  the  last 
day  with  us.” 

“Take  the  child  with  you,”  said  the  In- 
valid ; “ but  be  sure  you  do  not  make  him 
drink.  Why,  the  little  rogue,  how  handsome 
he  looks ! ” 

The  ten  journeymen  walked  away  with 
Cecil  and  his  dog  in  the  midst  of  them.  They 
proceeded  gaily  along  the  Champs  Elysees, 
and  walked  some  distance  beyond  the  bar- 
riers, until  they  came  to  a house,  over  which 
was  written,  “Journeymen’s  Coffee  House.” 
They  entered,  called  for  refreshments,  and 
seated  themselves  at  table.  Although  it  was 
hardly  mid-day  when  they  took  their  places, 
it  was  night  before  any  of  them  proposed  to 
return  to  the  city. 

Poor  Cecil,  in  spite  of  their  merry  jests  and 
evident  enjoyment,  felt  lonely  and  dissatisfied. 
Their  conversation  was  not  suited  to  his  capa- 
cities, and  he  had  been  reared  in  too  much 


120 


\ 

CECIL. 


refinement,  to  feel  at  home  with  his  rough 
companions  in  their  convivial  hours. 

“ Is  it  not  almost  time  to  return  ? ” he  ven- 
tured to  say,  as  candles  were  placed  upon  the 
table  before  them. 

The  journeymen  paid  no  attention  to  his 
words,  but  one  of  them  who  was  considerably 
excited  by  wine,  rose  and  addressed  his  com- 
rades : “ Comrades,  a thought  has  struck  me. 
The  night  is  fresh  and , beautiful  ; we  have 
all  our  bundles  with  us — let  us  set  off  at 
once  ; in  the  month  of  August,  it  is  much 
pleasanter  travelling  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
than  beneath  the  rays  of  the  burning  sun.” 

“ Good  ! good  ! ” they  all  replied,  in  chorus, 
“let  us  start  at  once  ! ” 

“ And  me — what  will  become  of  me  ? ” 
asked  Cecil,  in  a plaintive  tone.  . 

“ Ah  ! little  schoolmaster,  we  quite  forgot 
you,”  said  one  of  the  masons  scratching  his 
head.  “ What  are  we  to  do  with  you  ? Let 


CECIL  LOSES  HIS  SCHOLARS. 


121 


me  see.  I have  it ! Comrades,  let  us  raise  a 
subscription  for  our  little  schoolmaster.  Here 
is  a franc  to  begin  with.” 

All  of  the  journeymen  followed  their  lead- 
er’s example,  and  placed  a franc  in  Cecil’s 
hand. 

“ There  ! With  that  sum,”  said  the  first 
mason,  “you  might  sail  for  America.  Take 
the  same  road  by  which  you  came  until  you 
have  passed  the  barriers.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  gates  you  will  find  a coach-stand — 
jump  into  a hack,  and  tell  the  coachman  to 
drive  you  to  Great  Louis  street,  number 
twenty-four.  What ! You  look  at  the  money 
as  if  it  would  burn  you,  and  don’t  take  it  ? 
Why  you  little  fool,  have  you  not  earned  it  ? 
Did  you  not  teach  us  our  letters  and  a great 
deal  more  ? For  nothing  one  gets  nothing 
in  this  world  : but  every  laborer  merits  his 
hire — this  is  yours — put  it  in  your  pocket, 

and  take  good  care  it  is  not  stolen  from  you. 

1 1 


122 


CECIL. 


And  now,  good  bye ! Shake  hands,  little 
schoolmaster!  Give  us  your  paw,  Fox. 
Comrades,  we  are  all  ready  ; let  us  be  off!  ” 
Cecil,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  beheld  their 
departure ; and  then  putting  the  ten  francs 
in  his  pocket,  he  set  out,  taking  the  road 
which  led  to  Paris.  Fox,  who  bad  eaten  his 
fill,  seemed  not  to  comprehend  the  cause  of 
bis  master’s  sadness,  but  gambolled  about, 
every  once  in  a while  looking  up  to  Cecil, 
as  though  he  would  inquire  what  was  the 
matter. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


THE  TWO  STRANGERS. 

Cecil  recrossed  the  barriers  in  safety,  and 
walked  up  to  the  coach-stand. 

“ How  much  will  you  ask  to  drive  me  to 
Great  Louis  street  ? ” demanded  Cecil  of  the 
coachman. 

“Thirty  cents,  Sir,  and  whatever  you  have 
the  kindness  to  give  me  to  drink  your  health 
with.” 

Nothing  sharpens  the  intellect  so  quickly 
as  misfortune.  Cecil  had  learnt  more  in  the 
fortnight  he  had  passed  in  Paris,  than  in  the 
twelve  years  during  which  he  had  lived  in  his 
uncle’s  luxurious  mansion. 

“Thirty  cents!”  he  repeated  to  himself; 
“ I should  then  have  only  eight  francs  and 


124 


CECIL. 


ten  cents  left.  With  thirty  cents  I could  buy 
a paper  of  tobacco  for  my  dear  old  friend. 
That  would  please  him  greatly,  and  it  is  a 
much  better  way  of  spending  the  money  than 
laying  it  out  in  coach  hire.  I can  easily  find 
my  way — at  all  events  I have  a tongue,  and 
can  inquire  if  I mistake  the  road.” 

“ Will  you  not  ride,  young  master?”  asked 
the  coachman,  holding  open  the  door  of  his 
vehicle. 

“ No,  I believe  not,”  replied  Cecil,  >and 
passed  on.  At  first,  Cecil  felt  sure  :hat  he 
had  taken  the  right  road  ; but,  little  by  little, 
he  began  to  doubt.  The  buildings  looked 
strange  to  him  ; be  grew  frightened,  and  at 
last  became  certain  that  he  had  lost  his  way. 
He  was  so  much  engrossed,  he  had  not  ob- 
served that  two  men  of  most  unprepossessing 
mien  were  evidently  following  him  : nor  did 
he  notice  that  the  dog  ran  backwards  and  for- 
wards uneasily,  and  kept  continually  growling. 


THE  TWO  STRANGERS. 


125 


Just  as  Cecil  had  reached  one  of  the  most 
unfrequented  parts  of  the  city,  the  two  men 
separated  ; one  advanced  towards  Cecil,  walk- 
ing on  his  right  side,  and  the  other  came  up 
to  him  on  his  left. 

“ Young  Sir,”  said  the  former,  affecting  a 
foreign  accent,  “ can  you  tell  me  the  way  to 
Orleans  street  ? ” 

“ I am  a stranger,  Sir,”  replied  Cecil ; u I 
was  myself  just  going  to  ask  you  the  way  to 
Great  Louis  street.” 

The  person  on  Cecil’s  left  then  spoke 
“ What  do  you  wish  to  know,  gentlemen  ? ” 

“I  wish  to  know  the  way  to  Orleans  street.” 

“ And  I to  Great  Louis  street.” 

“ It  is  very  fortunate,  then,  that  you  have 
met  me,  gentlemen.  The  two  streets  you 
desire  to  find  are  near  each  other,  and  I arn 
obliged  to  pass  them,  in  order  to  reach  my 
home.  We  will  go  together.” 

o o 

‘ You  are  very  kind,”  said  the  person  who 

11* 


126 


CECIL. 


had  first  accosted  Cecil.  " I have  just  arrived 
from  America.  I am  very  rich,  and  I will 
pay  you  handsomely.  As  for  this  young 
gentleman,  I suppose  he  has  not  any  money  ; 
therefore 55 

“I  beg  your  pardon,”  interrupted  Cecil; 
“ I have  ten  francs  in  my  pocket.” 

“ Have  you  been  a long  time  in  Paris  ? ” 
questioned  the  stranger.  “ Are  your  parents 
wealthy  ? How  do  you  happen  to  be  alone 
at  this  hour  of  the  night  ? ” 

Cecil  frankly  related  his  little  history  ; and, 
while  he  spoke,  the  two  strangers  approached 
each  other  and  conversed  in  a low  tone.  Had 
Cecil  known  more  of  the  world,  his  suspicions 
would  have  been  roused  by  their  manner.  As 
it  was,  he  heard  one  of  them  say,  “ At  all 
events,  it  will  be  ten  francs ; ” and,  looking 
up  to  him  with  an  innocent  expression  of  con- 
tenance,  he  inquired, — “ What  did  you  say 
about  ten  francs  ? ” 


THE  TWO  STRANGERS. 


127 


“ I was  only  proposing  to  give  this  gentle- 
man ten  francs  for  his  trouble  in  conducting 
us  home.” 

Cecil  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  that  even 
the  coachman  had  charged  less  than  that ; but 
he  was  afraid  of  wounding  the  feelings  of  the 
gentleman,  by  placing  him  on  an  equality  with 
a hack-driver.  He  therefore  remained  silent ; 
but,  for  the  first  time,  remarked  the  restlessness 
of  his  dog,  who  seemed  anxious  to  lead  his 
master  in  a different  direction. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THE  POOR  BLIND  MAN. 

As  they  passed  a dark  alley  on  their  right, 
Cecil’s  ears  caught  the  sound  of  groans  and 
sobs,  evidently  proceeding  from  a person  in 
distress.  Looking  about  him,  he  saw  an  old 
man,  at  a short  distance,  extended  upon  the 
ground.  Following  the  dictates  of  his  heart, 
without  consulting  his  companions,  Cecil  ran 
towards  the  prostrate  man,  and  attempted  to 
assist  him. 

“Did  you  fall  down,  my  friend?  Have 
you  hurt  yourself?”  inquired  the  child,  kindly. 

“ I am  blind  ! ” sobbed  out  the  old  man. 

“ And  you  have  lost  your  way,  have  you 
not?”  said  Cecil. 

“ I am  blind  ! ” repeated  the  old  man. 


THE  POOR  BLIND  MAN. 


129 


a Gentlemen  ! ” cried  out  Cecil  to  his  com- 
panions, “ you  will  conduct  this  old  man 
home,  will  you  not  ? He  is  blind.” 

“ Do  you  suppose  it  is  my  employment  to 
show  the  way  about  Paris  to  everybody  I 
meet  ? ” rudely  demanded  the  man,  who  had 
volunteered  to  escort  Cecil  home. 

“Oh!  Sir,”  said  Cecil,  addressing  the  other 
stranger,  “ you  said  you  were  rich — will  you 
not  have  the  goodness  to  pay  this  gentleman 
for  showing  this  poor  blind  man  his  way 
home  ?” 

“ I only  pay  for  those  I take  a fancy  to, 
and  I do  not  like  the  looks  of  this  fellow,” 
was  the  unfeeling  reply. 

“ Do  you  live  at  a great  distance?”  said 
Cecil  to  the  blind  man. 

“ Ah  ! dear  child — for  by  the  delicate 
sweetness  of  your  voice,  I know  you  are  a 

child,  and  a kind-hearted  one  ” 

Before  the  blind  man  could  say  any  more, 


130 


CECIL. 


the  pretended  American  called  to  Cecil, 
“ Come,  young  gentleman,  I cannot  stay  here 
all  night  ? ” 

“ Wait  one  single  moment  more,”  replied 
Cecil;  “only  think!  this  man  is  blind,  and 
perhaps  has  been  hurt  by  hib  fall;  it  would 
be  impossible  for  him  to  find  his  way.”  #Then 
turning  to  the  blind  man,  he  said  : “ how  did 
you  come  here?  You  could  not  have  come 
alone  ? ” 

“No,  I came  with  my  faithful,  sagacious 
friend,  who  guided  me  everywhere — my  poor 
little  dog  ! He  ate  something  that  poisoned 
him,  and  he  lies  not  far  from  here  quite  dead. 
My  poor  Rover  ! What  shall  I ever  do  with- 
out him  ! ” , 

“ Come,  come,  young  gentleman,”  said  one 
of  the  strangers  in  an  authoritative  tone  ; “ we 
are  tired  of  waiting.” 

“ Give  me  one  moment  more,  I beg  of 
you,”  replied  Cecil.  “ You  were  so  good  to 


THE  POOR  BLIND  MAN. 


131 


me,  be  as  good  to  this  unfortunate  old  man. 
Shall  we  get  you  a coach,  my  friend.  A 
coach  will  take  you  home.” 

“ Home  ! oh  ! no,  no,  I must  not  go  home  ! 
My  poor  wife  ! My  poor  daughter ! ” 

“ What,  you  have  a wife  and  a daughter, 
and  you  do  not  wish  to  return  home  ? ” But 
before  Cecil  could  say  any  more,  one  of  the 
men  seized  his  arm. 

“ Come  along,  child,  we  will  not  stay  any 
longer.” 

“ One  minute,  one  minute,  gentlemen  ! 
Look  at  this  old  man.  Ah!  I know  what 
it  is  to  be  forsaken  and  without  friends.  I 
thought  it  hard  enough,  although  I was  not 
blind  ” 

“Nor  was  your  arm  broken,”  groaned  the 
old  man. 

“Your  arm  broken!”  cried  Cecil  with 
(^motion ; “ oh  ! I hope  your  arm  is  not 

broken  ? ” 


132 


CECIL. 


The  blind  man  replied  with  resignation : 
4 after  the  death  of  my  dog,  I tried  to  find  my 
way  alone,  and  fell  down  as  you  perceive  : 
my  arm  hurts  me  so  much,  that  I cannot 
move  it  without  groaning.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  my  misfortune,  I might  have  gained  with 
my  violin,  which  lies  somewhere  near  me, 
money  enough  to  pay  for  my  lodgings,  or  at 
least  quiet  my  landlord  for  a time ; but  now, 
what  am  I to  do  ? ” 

44  You  could  have  gained  money  by  your 
violin  ? ” questioned  Cecil,  delightedly. 

44  With  my  violin — to  be  sure  I could  ! 
Why  not  ? ” 

Cecil  stood  several  moments  lost  in  thought, 
during  which  time  the  two  men  conversed  in 
a low  tone. 

44  Does  it  require  much  skill  to  earn  money 
by  playing  on  the  violin  ? ” asked  Cecil,  at 
length. 

44  Much  skill  ? Not  a great  deal.  Why,  I 


THE  POOR  BLIND  MAN. 


133 


only  know  one  tune,  and  I play  that  by  ear. 
I have  played  the  violin  these  thirty  years  ; 
my  wife  made  a little  by  sewing,  and  my 
daughter  by  selling  herbs  and  flowers.  As 
for  my  son,  he  is  a mason,  and  what  he  makes 
during  the  week  he  drinks  up  on  Sunday,  so 
I do  not  calculate  ever  to  receive  anything  from 
him.  Until  now,  we  have  got  along  tolerably 
— we  were  very  poor — still  we  managed  to 
live.” 

Cecil  turned  abruptly  to  his  companions : 
“ Gentlemen,  the  old  man  says,  that  he  could 
make  money  by  playing  on  his  violin  ; he 
only  knows  one  air,  and  I know  four.  Only 
wait,  I pray  you,  until  I have  played  my  four 
airs,  and  made  money  enough  to  pay  a coach- 
man for  taking  the  old  man  home,  and  then  I 
will  follow  you.” 

“ The  child  is  a fool  ! ” exclaimed  the  pre- 
tended American,  forgetting  in  his  anger  to 

make  use  of  his  foreign  accent.  “We  have 

12 


134 


CECIL. 


waited  already  too  long.  Come  Sir,  you  must 
go  with  us  ! ” 

“ How  well  you  speak  French,  all  at 
once ! ” said  Cecil,  looking  at  the  man,  in 
astonishment. 

“ My  child,”  said  the  blind  man,  without 
noticing  Cecil’s  last  observation,  “ you  are  a 
noble  boy,  and  I thank  you  heartily  for  the 
service  which  you  desire  to  render  me ; but 
you  must  obey  your  guardians.” 

“ But  they  are  not  my  guardians,”  cried 
Cecil,  becoming  incensed  at  the  cruelty  of 
the  two  men.  “ I do  not  know  who  they  are. 
I lost  my  way,  and  they  offered  to  conduct 
me  home.  I owe  them  no  obedience  ; and, 
since  I find  their  hearts  are  so  bad,  that  they 
refuse  to  assist  you,  they  need  not  wait  for 
me  any  longer.  God  will  provide  me  a 
guide ; and  I am  not  afraid  ! Gentlemen,  I 
wish  you  good  evening  ; you  need  not  wait 
for  me.” 


THE  POOR  BLIND  MAN. 


135 


“ Do  you  know,”  said  the  man  who  had 
passed  himself  off  as  an  American,  now 
speaking  very  good  French,  “ do  you  know 
that  we  could  force  you  to  follow  us  if  we 
chose  ? ” 

With  this  threat  each  of  the  men  seized 
one  of  Cecil’s  arms. 

Cecil  was  frightened  ; but  his  very  fear 
made  him  brave  ; raising  his  voice,  he  cried 
out,  ;£  Release  me  ! You  have  no  right  to 
force  me.  Help  ! help  ! help  ! I shall  cry 
thief!  catch  the  thief!  if  you  do  not  let  me 
g°” 

Cecil  had  hardly  uttered  the  last  sentence, 
before  the  two  men  loosed  their  grasp  and 
disappeared. 

“ Why,  where  have  they  gone  ? ” said  Ce- 
cil, half  laughing  and  half  crying. 

“ Had  you  any  money  about  you,  my  little 
friend  ?”  asked  the  blind  man, 

“ I had  ten  francs.” 


136 


CECIL. 


“ Did  these  men  know  it  ? ” 

“ Yes,  I told  them  myself.” 

“ Then  you  made  a lucky  escape ; they 
were  doubtless  thieves.  Thank  God  for  your 
deliverance.  Your  kindness  to  an  unfortunate 
man  has  saved  you.” 

“ Thieves ! ” repeated  Cecil  in  a tone  of  awe, 
and  looking  fearfully  around  him.  “ Could 
they  be  thieves  ? Pray,  let  us  get  home. 
Good  old  man,  could  you  not  raise  yourself 
and  try  to  walk  ? ” 

“ My  arm  hurts  me  dreadfully,  but  I will 
try,”  said  the  blind  man,  making  an  effort  to 
rise.  There  ! I am  on  my  feet  once  more. 

No  ; I do  not  think  my  arm  can  be  broken, 
but  it  must  be  dreadfully  bruised.  Will  you 
give  me  your  hand,  my  good  child,  and  guide 
me  ? Where  do  you  live  ? ” 

“ In  Great  Louis  street,”  answered  Cecil, 
making  the  old  man  lean  upon  his  shoulder. 

“ I live  in  the  same  street.  If  I am  not  at 


THE  POOR  BLIND  MAN. 


137 


home  by  midnight,  my  daughter  will  come  to 
seek  me.  Therefore,  do  not  be  afraid  ; she 
will  take  you  home  safely.” 

“That  will  do  very  well;  and  meanwhile, 
I mean  to  try  if  I can  make  a little  money 
for  you,  since  you  say  that  money  can  be 
made  by  playing  on  the  violin.  Come  along, 
Fox ! ” 

“What,  you  have  a dog?”  said  the  old 
man,  as  Fox  licked  his  hand. 

“ Now  that  is  strange — strange,  but  very 
sensible ! ” said  Cecil,  without  answering  the 
old  man’s  question.  “ Here  Fox,  who 
growled  all  the  time  at  those  two  men,  licks 
your  hand  and  caresses  you,  although  you  are 
not  better  dressed  than  they  ! ” 

“Dogs  are  sensible  animals,”  replied  the 
old  man,  “ and  their  instincts  are  singularly 
correct.  Fox  knows  that  I am  your  friend — 
that  is,  as  much  your  friend,  as  a miserable 

beggar,  whose  friendship  will  not  benefit  any- 
12* 


138 


CECIL. 


body  can  be.  And  I would  be  your  protector, 
too,  but  misery  has  no  protection  to  offer.” 

“ Who  knows,”  said  Cecil,  laughing  and 
jumping  about  for  joy,  “ but  that  I may  be- 
come your  protector  to-night,  and  1 am  in 
quite  as  miserable  a plight  as  yourself?” 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE  LITTLE  MUSICIAN. 

While  seeking  a good  place  where  he  might 
stand  and  play  on  the  violin,  Cecil  related  his 
little  history  and  all  his  adventures  since  his 
arrival  in  Paris,  to  the  blind  man,  but  without 
mentioning  his  cousin’s  name. 

“ Where  had  we  best  place  ourselves  ? ” 
asked  he  of  the  blind  man. 

“ In  front  of  a Coffee  House,  if  you  can, 
my  little  friend.” 

“ Here  is  one  : c The  Coffee  House  of  the 
Ambassadors.’  ” 

“ Choose  a table  where  there  are  children, 
and  let  us  stand  directly  before  them.” 

“ Why,  children  ?”  asked  Cecil. 


140 


CECIL. 


“ Because  children  do  not  understand  music, 
and  it  always  pleases  them  whether  it  is  good 
or  bid.” 

“ Thank  you,”  said  Cecil,  laughing  ; “you 
doubt  my  being  able  to  play  well.  Here  is 
a table,  at  which  a gentleman  and  three  little 
girls  are  sitting.” 

“ That  is  good,”  said  the  old  man  ; “ now 
make  your  dog  sit  down  on  the  ground, 
put  this  little  tin  platter  by  him,  and  com- 
mence.” 

Cecil  gave  one  touch  with  his  bow  on  the 
violin,  which  astonished  the  old  man.  Cecil 
continued  playing. 

“ Why,  you  are  skilful  ; every  body  will 
come  to  hear  you.” 

“Yes,”  said  Cecil,  quite  agitated,  “but  I 
feel  ashamed,  for  I never  played  before  any 
body  but  my  uncle  and  my  teacher.” 

“ Does  any  body  give  money  ? ” 

“Yes,  the  plate  is  almost  full,”  replied 


THE  LITTLE  MUSICIAN. 


141 


Cecil ; “ but  the  people  stare  at  me  so  much, 
it  confuses  me.” 

“ Take  courage,  my  dear  child,  courage  ! ” 
said  the  old  man,  in  a low  and  broken  voice  ; 
“ if  I do  not  carry  twenty-six  francs  home  to 
my  family  this  evening,  to-morrow  we  shall  be 
turned  into  the  street,  without  a place  where 
we  can  find  shelter.  My  poor  wife,  for  the 
last  two  years,  has  been  rendered  helpless  by 
a paralytic  stroke ; and  my  daughter,  a girl 
of  seventeen,  has  never  known  a happy  day. 
Take  courage,  my  dear  child  ;;  I hear  the 
cents  falling  into  the  plate.  Alas  ! it  will 
take  a great  many  to  make  twenty-six  francs. 
But  what  is  the  matter?  You  don’t  play 
with  so  much  power  as  you  did  at  first,  and 
your  time  is  slower. 

“ The  perspiration  is  rolling  down  my  face 
in  large  drops,”  said  Cecil  ; “ I did  not  think 
it  was  so  difficult  to  play  in  public,  and  before 
people  one  does  not  know.” 


142 


CECIL. 


“ You  are  saving  a poor  family  from  mise- 
ry,” replied  the  blind  man  ; “ let  this  thought 
banish  your  natural  timidity.  But  if  you  are 
too  warm,  take  some  of  the  money  out  of  the 
plate,  and  go  into  the  Coffee  House,  to  get  a 
drink,  my  child.” 

“ Thank  you,”  said  Cecil,  “ but  I will  not 
use  any  of  that  money.” 

“Then  take  your  violin  and  play  on.  Play 
on,  my  dear  friend,  my  preserver ! God  will 
bless  you  for  this  noble  act.  You  have  had 
pity  upon  a poor  blind  old  man,  and  He  will 
have  pity  on  you.” 

“ Hush,  good  old  man  ! ” said  Cecil;  “ there 
is  very  little  merit  in  what  I am  doing ; and  your 
praises  make  me  tremulous.  I have  played  all 
the  airs  I know  ; shall  I commence  again  ? ” 

“ If  you  are  not  tired,  my  child.” 

“ No,  on  the  contrary,  I am  beginning  to 
get  accustomed  to  the  crowd.  You  will  see 
that  I shall  play  more  boldly  this  time.” 


THE  LITTLE  MUSICIAN. 


143 


And  in  truth  Cecil  regained  his  self-pos- 
session, and  played  with  remarkable  grace, 
beauty,  and  sweetness.  Every  body  was 
delighted  with  the  little  musician,  compli- 
mented and  encouraged  him  ; but  it  was 
growing  late,  and  the  crowd  gradually  dis- 
persed. When  the  Coffee  House  was  vacated, 
Cecil  ceased  playing,  and  said  to  the  old  man  : 
“ Every  body  has  gone.” 

“Very  well;  count  the  money,”  said  the 
old  man,  “ and  divide  it.  You  have  well 
earned  your  share.” 

“•Divide  it!”  exclaimed  Cecil;  “no,  in- 
deed ; I have  been  playing  for  your  benefit  only 
— I have  ten  francs,  you  know — I am  rich  !” 
The  blind  man  smiled  as  he  took  the  trea- 
sure from  the  child’s  hands  ; and  at  the  same 
moment,  the  keeper  of  the  Coffee  House  came 
towards  the  blind  man,  saving: 

“Now  that  the  tables  are  unoccupied,  come 
and  sit  down,  my  good  old  man,  and  let  your 


144 


CECIL. 


charming  child  refresh  himself.  What  will 
you  have?  Some  beer — milk — cakes — any 
thing  you  like  ! ” 

“ You  never  were  so  polite  to  me  before, 
my  good  Sir,”  replied  the  blind  man,  accept- 
ing the  invitation. 

“ In  sooth,”  replied  the  man,*  laughing, 
“ your  violin  generally  drives  away  my  com- 
pany, but  to-night  your  little  boy  has  drawn 
me  quite  a number  of  customers.  Drink — 
eat — do  not  hesitate — and  come  back  to- 
morrow.” 

A young  girl,  in  tears,  now  approached 
the  table  where  the  old  man  and  Cecil  were 
eating,  and  exclaimed  : 

“ Oh  ! my  dear  father ! how  worried  my 
mother  and  I have  been  about  you  ! Here  it 
is  nearly  midnight!” 

“What  do,  you  think,  Mary  ? ” replied  the 
old  man,  gayly  ; UI  have  lost  my  dog,  my 
arm  is  bruised,  and  without  this  little  angel 


THE  LITTLE  MUSICIAN. 


145 


that  the  good  God  put  in  my  way,  there  is 
no  knowing  when  you  would  have  seen  me 
again.  Sit  down  there,  daughter,  and  count 
the  money.” 

“ Provided  it  is  worth  counting,”  said  the 
poor  girl,  sitting  down,  and  gathering  the 
cents  into  a pile.  “ The  landlord  has  been 
to  our  house,  father.  He  was  very  angry, 
and  said  if  we  did  not  pay  all  we  owe  him 
before  twelve  o’clock  to-morrow,  he  would 
turn  us  out  of  the  house,  and  retain  all  our 
little  furniture,  our  clothes — everything,  even 
to  my  pigeons  ! We  had  depended  on  my 
brother’s  wages  ; but,  alas  ! he  did  not  bring 
them.  Could  he  have  had  the  heart  to  go  to 
the  tavern  and  drink  away  his  money,  when 
his  family  were  in  so  much  distress  ! Heaven 
grant  that  he  may  one  day  be  cured  of  his 
weakness  ! There — all  the  piles  are  made — 
and  there  are  twenty  cents  in  each  pile,  it  is 

easy  to  count  them  now.” 

13 


) 


146  CECIL. 

“Well,  how  much  is  there?”  asked  the 
blind  man,  impatiently,  while  Mary  again 
counted  the  piles  separately. 

“ Seventeen,”  said  she;  “ I have  counted 
and  recounted  them  carefully,  and  still  there 
are  only  seventeen  francs.  Oh  ! my  father  ! 
We  are  lost ! ” 

Cecil,  who  had  noticed  the  girl’s  hands 
tremble  as  she  was  counting  the  piles,  and  her 
despair  as  she  was  obliged  to  stop  at  seven- 
teen, took  his  ten  francs  out  of  his  pocket  and 
threw  them  among  the  cents. 

“ Seventeen  and  ten  makes  twenty-seven,” 
said  he,  laughing  merrily.  “ It  seems  to  me 
you  have  twenty-seven  francs  ! ” 

“ You  had  concealed  part  of  the  receipts  in 
your  pocket,  then  ? ” asked  the  young  girl, 
reproachfully. 

“Concealed!”  replied  Cecil,  indignantly— 
“ those  ten  francs  are  mine,  Miss  ; and  I give 
them  to  you  to  complete  the  sum  you  require. 


THE  LITTLE  MUSICIAN. 


147 


It  is  very  fortunate  I did  not  go  home  in  a 
coach  as  I had  intended/5  added  he,  “ for 
then  I should  not  have  been  able  to  do  you 
a service.55 

“ Your  ten  francs  ! 55  said  the  old  man,  much 
affected  : “ I do  not  wish  them,  my  child. 
Keep  them — keep  them  yourself.  Mary, 
return  those  ten  francs  to  this  generous  child. 
They  are  all  he  has  in  the  world  ; and  he 
gives  them  to  me ! Where  is  he  ? Your 
hand — give  me  your  hand,  my  noble  boy, 
that  I may  kiss  it.  Oh,  Father  in  heaven  ! 
let  the  humble  prayer  of  a poor  unfortunate 
ascend  to  thy  eternal  throne,  and  bless  this 
child  ! 55 

/■ 

“Well,  what  is  the  matter,  my  good  old 
man?  Why  do  you  weep?  You  make  me 
cry  to  see  you,55  said  Cecil,  wiping  his  eyes. 

Astonished  at  this  scene,  Mary  glanoed 
alternately  from  her  father  to  the  boy. 

“ You  want  twenty-six  francs  to  pay  your 


148 


CECIL. 


rent,  and  as  I only  made  seventeen,  it  is  but 
just  that  I should  give  you  the  rest,”  said 
Cecil. 

“Just!”  exclaimed  the  old  man,  “just! 
This  child  calls  his  noblest  action— his  greatest 
sacrifice,  mer e justice!  Have  you  given  him 
back  his  ten  francs,  Mary  ? ” 

“ But,  father” — said  Mary,  hesitatingly. 
“My  daughter,  do  as  I bid  you,”  replied 
the  old  man,  sternly  • “ and  not  only  that, 
but  divide  the  other  money  with  him.  If  the 
sum  had  been  complete  I would  have  said 
nothing,  but  taken  this  kind  and  generous 
child’s  share  to  pay  my  rent.  Since  it  is  not 
so,  it  will  not  save  me  from  being  turned  out 
of  our  house  to-morrow.  Give  him  eight 
francs  and  ten  cents,  Mary  ; and  I shall  still 
be  under  great  obligations  to  him.” 

“ I do  not  want  your  eight  francs  and  ten 
cents,”  replied  Cecil,  positively ; “ and  I want 
you  to  take  my  ten  francs.  My  poor  uncle 


THE  LITTLE  MUSICIAN. 


149 


used  to  say,  that  it  was  the  duty  of  all  men 
to  assist  one  another  as  much  as  it  was  in 
their  power.  I am  not  a man,  but  still,  if  I 
serve  you  to-day,  you  will  have  an  opportunity 
of  returning  it  some  other  time.” 

“ Take  this  child’s  ten  francs,  good  old 
man,”  said  a gentleman,  who  was  sitting  at  a 
neighboring  table,  and  who  for  some  minutes 
had  been  listening  to  the  discussion  between 
the  blind  man  and  Cecil  ; “ take  them  ! I 
could  give  them  to  you  myself,  but  I will  not 
deprive  this  noble  boy  of  the  pleasure  of  doing 
so  generous  an  action.  All  I gan  do  is  to 
promise  to  return  him  the  money.  But  it  is 
getting  very  late,  and  I have  not  time  to  talk 
any  longer.  We  will  meet  again  to-morrow.” 
The  gentleman  walked  up  to  a coach-stand, 
and  called  out  to  one  of  the  drivers: 

“ Peter,  take  these  people  home,  and  notice 
the  house  particularly,  that  you  may  drive  me 

there  to-morrow.  To-morrow,  my  friends,” 

13* 


150 


CECIL. 


added  he,  assisting  the  blind  man  into  the 
coach,  “ to-morrow  I will  see  you — no  thanks 
— your  thanks  are  only  due  to  this  child. 
Good-by,  my  little  friend,  until  to-morrow.” 

“ Where  shall  I drive  ? ” asked  the  coach- 
man of  the  blind  man. 

“ To  number  twenty-four  Great  Louis  street, 
for  the  little  gentleman,  and  for  me  to  number 
three  Port-Mahon  street.” 

Then  Cecil,  who,  in  his  ignorance  of  the 
world,  saw  nothing  extraordinary  in  this  gen- 
tleman’s kindness,  called  out  in  his  turn : 

“ Until  to-morrow,  Sir.” 

And  the  horses  set  off  at  a full  gallop. 


L 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  TRACT  OF  LAND- 

I pass  over  the  details  of  all  the  compliments 
paid  to  Cecil  in  the  wagon,  the  invalid’s 
uneasiness  from  the  prolonged  absence  of  the 
child,  and  his  surprise  at  seeing  a coach  drive 
up  to  the  door.  Neither  will  I repeat  Cecil’s 
rehearsal  of  the  day’s  adventures  to  the  old 
soldier ; but  turn  to  the  events  of  the  next 
morning. 

Cecil  slept  as  soundly  and  contentedly  that 
night  on  his  bed  of  straw,  as  he  could  have 
done  had  it  been  one  of  down.  On  awaking 
in  the  morning  he  beheld  the  strange  gentle- 
man and  the  invalid  standing  beside  him, 
conversing  together. 


152 


CECIL. 


“ So,  my  poor  child,”  said  the  strange 
gentleman  to  him,  as  soon  as  he  opened  his 
eyes,  “ you  have  been  abandoned,  and  a feel- 
ing of  delicacy  has  deterred  you  from  men- 
tioning the  name  of  the  villain  by  whom  you 
have  been  so  shamefully  treated  ? Here ! 
first  take  these  ten  francs  that  I owe  you — 
and  then  we  will  see  what  we  can  do  for  you. 
What  have  you  learnt  ? ”* 

“ I can  read,  write,  calculate,  and  above 
all  play  on  the  violin,  as  you  perhaps  heard 
yesterday  evening,”  replied  Cecil,  getting  up, 
and  taking  the  money,  which  the  gentleman 
offered  him.  “ But  it  is  all  the  same  to  me  ; 
and  it  is  well  to  be  able  to  make  money  in 
that  way,  though  I felt  very  badly  to  have 
every  body  staring  at  me,  and  I was  ashamed 
at  every  cent  that  dropped  at  my  feet.  If  it 
had  not  been  to  serve  the  old  man,  I am 
afraid  I should  not  have  continued  playing.” 
The  stranger  replied  : “ You  could  not 


THE  TRACT  OF  LAND. 


153 


select  a more  foolish  employment,  my  child  ; 
and,  as  you  have  only  a very  ordinary  talent 
for  the  violin,  it  would  take  much  time  and 
money  to  attain  perfection  in  the  art.  It  was 
your  youth,  probably,  rather  than  your  playing, 
which  won  you  so  much  money  last  evening ; 
and  I think  it  would  be  but  poor  employment 
for  you  to  wander  about  the  streets  with  a 
violin.  I have  a proposition  to  make,  and 
you  must  tell  me  how  it  pleases  you.  That 
dog  is  yours,  is  it  not  ? ” said  the  gentleman, 
glancing  at  Fox. 

“ Yes,  Sir,”  replied  Cecil,  in  some  alarm. 

The  gentleman  resumed  : Cc  My  name  is 

Raimond.  I have  gained  a livelihood  by 
weaving  cotton  caps,  socks  and  stockings. 
But  I own  some  land  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Beaujon,  at  the  end  of  the  Champs-Elysees. 
This  ground  is  surrounded  by  a wall,  and  as 
there  are  a quantity  of  planks,  stakes,  old 
garden  tools,  and  some  fine  fruit  trees  on  it, 


154 


OECIL. 


it  attracts  plunderers.  I want  to  station  there 
a person  who  can  keep  watch,  and,  in  case 
of  danger,  who  can  arouse  the  National  Guard, 
who  are  posted  at  a short  distance.  You  and 
your  dog  would  just  suit  my  purpose,  and 
here  is  a little  horn  you  could  blow  if  there 
were  any  necessity.  But  tell  me  first,  would 
you  be  afraid  ? ” 

“ Afraid  of  what  ? ” asked  Cecil.  “ Of 
thieves?  I have  nothing  that  can  be  stolen, 
but  my  ten  francs ; and  I will  hide  them 
where  I will  defy  any  body  to  find  them. 
As  to  ghosts,  my  uncle  assured  me  there  were 
no  such  things.  So  then,  I don’t  see  what 
there  can  be  to  make  me  afraid.” 

“ Will  you  accompany  me  ? ” asked  Mr 
Raimond. 

“ Wait  a moment,  Sir,”  said  the  invalid; 
“ this  child  was,  as  it  were,  placed  under  my 
protection  by  the  hand  of  Providence,  and, 
with  all  respect  to  you,  I would  like  to  know 


THE  TRACT  OF  LAND. 


155 


how  much  you  will  pay  him  for  taking  care 
of  your  ground  ? ” 

“ Oh,  indeed  ! not  much  ! ” replied  Mr 
Raimond,  laughing.*  “ In  the  first  place,  he 
will  get  neither  food  nor  lodging,  for  there  is 
neither  house  nor  table  in  the  enclosure.  But 
there  are  plenty  of  planks,  with  which  he  can 
make  both  if  he  chooses  ; then  there  is  fruit 
which  he  can  eat,  and  there  is  ground,  in 
which  he  can  plant  vegetables.  I will  pro- 
vide him  with  seed  : and,  from  time  to  time, 
when  I come  to  town,  I will  bring  him  some 
provisions  ; and  perhaps  I will  not  let  him  die 
of  hunger.” 

uNo,  truly,  I am  sure,  the  gentleman  will 
not  let  me  die  of  hunger,”  said  Cecil.  “ I 
will  guard  your  property,  Sir.  L^et  us  go. 
But  wait  a moment  for  me,  I pray  you.” 

And,  with  the  confidence  of  a child,  who 
knows  not  what  it  is  to  doubt,  Cecil  ran  out  of 
the  house,  and  after  a short  absence,  returned, 


156 


CECIL. 


carrying  in  his  hand  a package  of  tobacco  and 
an  earthen  pipe,  representing  a head  in  a three 
cornered  hat. 

“ Here ! my  good  father  La  Tuile,”  said 
Cecil,  offering  the  pipe  and  tobacco  to  the 
invalid  ; cc  I would  not  ride  home  in  a coach 
yesterday,  that  I might  have  the  pleasure  of 
supplying  you  with  tobacco.  Here  is  the 
likeness  of  your  beloved  emperor  on  the  pipe 
— that  is  the  reason  I selected  it.  Accept  it, 
and  embrace  me.  I am  at  your  service  now, 
Mr.  Raimond.  Come  on,  Fox.  Oil ! I had 
almost  forgotten  my  book.” 

“ By  my  emperor — by  the  name  of  the 
great  Bonaparte,  this  little  monkey  is  a charm- 
ing little  fellow  ! ” exclaimed  the  old  soldier, 
with  emotion.  “ I will  come  to  see  you,  my 
brave  boy,  when  I can  walk  out ; and  we 
will  drink  each  other’s  heal th.  I will  not 
say  farewell,  my  little  friend  ! ” 

“ You  have  spent  part  of  your  ten  francs,” 


THE  TRACT  OF  LAND. 


157 


said  Mr.  Raimond  to  Cecil,  as  they  were 
getting  into  the  wa^on. 

“ To  give  pleasure  to  that  brave  old  man,” 
replied  Cecil. 

“ What  book  is  that  under  your  arm,” 
asked  Mr.  Raimond. 

“ It  is  the  history  of  Robinson  Crusoe  in 
the  desert  island,  Sir,”  replied  Cecil,  gravely. 
“ It  is  a very  interesting  story,  I can  assure 
you.” 

The  wagon  stopped  before  the  gate  of  the 
inclosure,  the  walls  of  which  were  were  full  of 
crevices. 

Mr.  Raimond  alighted,  and  taking  a key 
from  his  pocket,  introduced  Cecil  and  Fox 
into  a large  square  tract  of  ground.  Three 
quarters  of  this  ground  were  uncultivated,  and 
overgrown  with  thistles  ; but  on  the  other  quar- 
ter stood  several  large  trees,  thickly  covered 
with  leaves,  but  bearing  very  little  fruit.  In 

a corner  of  this  enclosure  lay  a heap  of  old 

14 


158 


CECIL. 


planks,  stakes,  rusted  tools,  and  broken  stones. 
The  wall  around  was  very  irregular,  and  partly 
broken  down. 

“ Here  is  your  land/5  said  Mr.  Raimond  to 
Cecil,  “ and  there  is  your  orchard.  Take 
care  that  the  robbers  don’t  carry  off  all  your 
fruit.  You  can  plant  potatoes  here ; they 
are  very  easily  raised.  Let  grass  grow  on 
this  side,  and  when  it  is  high  enough  cut  it 
down,  and  all  the  gardeners  in  the  neighbor- 
hood will  buy  it  for  their  rabbits.  You  can 
be  as  happy  as  a king,  if  you  know  how  to 
arrange  everything  well.” 

“ Do  you  give  me  all  this  ? ” asked  Cecil, 
wonder-struck. 

“ I do  not  give  you  anything,  but  I permit 
you  to  enjoy  it  all,”  said  Mr.  Raimond. 

“ That  is  to  say,”  replied  Cecil,  “ that  I 
may  go,  come,  run,  dig  the  ground,  do  what- 
ever I choose — and  even  build  myself  a house 
with  these  planks  ? ” 


THE  TRACT  OF  LAND. 


159 


“ Exactly.” 

“ Now  I am  indeed  like  Robinson  on  the 
desolate  island  ! ” 

“ Exactly.” 

“ And  how,  Sir,  can  I thank  you  for  all 
your  goodness  ? ” 

“ By  watching  that  nobody  comes  at  night 
to  tear  down  the  walls,  or  steal  my  fruit.  This 
is  very  easy — is  it  not?  Your  dog  can  warn 
you  of  the  approach  of  intruders  ; then,  with 
this  little  horn,”  (and  Mr.  Raimond  took  the 
horn  out  of  his  wagon  and  gave  it  to  Cecil,) 
“ you  can  call  the  guard,  who  will  come  to 
your  assistance.” 

understand  you  perfectly,”  said  Cecil  ; 
“ and  if  you  will  permit  me,  Sir,  I am  going 
to  commence  work  immediately,  that  I may 
have  my  house  made  before  sunset.” 

“ I jam  very  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  help 
you,”  replied  Mr.  Raimond  ; “ but  but  I am 
obliged  to  start  to-day  on  a journey  of  one 


160 


CECIL. 


or  two  months.  Fortunately  it  is  warm,  and 
you  have  time  enough  before  winter  to  build 
your  house.  However,  if  you  will  commence 
immediately,  I can  give  you  some  advice. 
Take  this  corner  of  the  wall,  which  will 
shelter  you  from  the  north  winds,  and 'which 
will  also  form  two  sides  of  your  dwelling. 

I , but  how  old  are  you  ? ” asked  Mr. 

Raimond,  suddenly  interrupting  himself. 

“ Twelve  years  old,”  replied  Cecil. 

“ You  are  very  young,  my  little  fellow.  I 
am  sorry  I cannot  do  anything  more  for  you. 
I would  have  taken  you  to  my  house,  at  Saint 
Germain  ; but  my  wife  has  lost  a little  boy  of 
just  your  age,  and  the  sight  of  you  would 
cause  her  to  weep,  and  fall  into  one  of  her 
nervous  fits.  However,  you  will  certainly  be 
happier  here  than  wandering  about  the  streets ; 
and  you  will  be  very  comfortable  when  you 
get  your  house  built.  A carpenter  lives  quite 
near  you,  and  I will  ask  him  to  lend  you  any 


THE  TRACT  OF  LAND. 


161 


tools  that  you  may  need.  Now  let  me  see  how 
well  you  can  manage  everything.  Necessity 
is  the  mother  of  invention.  Have  you  got  the 
horn  ? ” 

“ Thank  you,  Sir,  thank  you  ! ” exclaimed 
Cecil,  seizing  Mr.  Raimond’s  hand  and  raising 
it  to  his  lips.  “ Oh  ! Sir,  you  have  made  me 
so  happy  ! But,  Fox,  come  here,  that  we 
may  be  happy  together,”  added  the  grateful 
child,  as  he  bent  down  and  fondly  caressed 
his  dog.  “You  and  I have  both  suffered,  and 
both  found  that  the  good  God  never  forsakes 
his  creatures.  When  I was  desolate  and  in 
despair,  you  ran  to  me  wounded  and  bleeding. 
I took  care  of  you  ; and,  from  the  time  I gave 
you  the  first  piece  of  bread,  which  you  returned 
by  giving  me  some  water,  we  have  each  been 
sustained  by  the  other:  and  now,  without  you, 
I should  not  be  here.” 

“You  are  satisfied,  then?”  asked  Mr. 

Raimond.  “ Now,  little  Robinson,  good-by  ! 

14* 


162 


CECIL 


l shall  not  see  you  for  a long  time.  Fare- 
well ! ” 

As  Cecil  followed  Mr.  Raimond  to  his 
wagon,  he  noticed  a woman  at  some  distance, 
whom  he  thought  he  recognised  as  a friend. 
The  woman,  in  her  turn,  when  she  perceived 
him,  quickened  her  pace  until  they  stood 
in  front  of  each  other.  She  held  in  her 
apron  something  that  moved  about,  and  made 
a prolonged  cooing  sound. 


0 * 


* 4 > 


CHAPTER  XXL 


THE  PAIR  OF  PIGEONS. 

u At  last  I have  found  you,  my  little  friend,55 
said  the  young  girl  to  Cecil.  “ My  father 
sent  me,  with  many  thanks,  to  tell  you  he 
would  never  forget  the  important  service  you 
have  rendered  him  ; and  he  will  return  the 
ten  francs  you  lent  him,  as  soon  as  possible. 
You  may  depend  on  him,  my  little  friend.” 

“ He*  owes  me  nothing,”  replied  Cecil. 

“ Mr.  Raimond  was  so  kind  as ” 

“ To  give  you  ten  francs,”  interrupted  Mr. 
Raimond,  gaily  ; “ but  not  to  pay  you  the 
blind  man’s  debt.  My  child,  I see  that  you 
have  no  notion  of  the,  value  of  money.” 

Cecil  did  not  reply  ; and  the  girl,  opening 


164 


CECIL. 


her  apron,  disclosed  a beautiful  pair  of  white  pi- 
geons, so  young  that  they  had  yet  but  few  fea- 
thers. She  presented  them  to  Cecil,  and  said, 

“ I wish  to  give  you  these  in  token  of  my 
gratitude,  my  little  friend  ; will  you  accept 
them  ? ” 

“ Thes-e  pigeons  for  me  ? ” exclaimecj  Ce- 
cil ; “ for  me,  Mary  ! And  what  shall  I do 
with  them  ?” 

“ Zounds  ! eat  them  for  your  dinner,”  re- 
plied Mr.  Raimond,  jumping  into  his  wagon, 
“ Good-by,  Cecil  ! Take  good  care  of  my 
land  ; don’t  let  anything  be  stolen, — and  if 
you  hear  the  slightest  noise  in  the  night, 
blow  the  horn.  Do  not  be  afraid  ; better  call 
the  guards  uselessly,  than  let  me  lose  a pear. 
Good-by  ! ” 

And  Mr.  Raimond  whipped  up  his  horses, 
who  started  off  at  full  gallop,  thus  preventing 
Cecil  from  making  any  further  acknowledg 


ment. 


CECIL  REWARDED. 


THE  PAIR  OF  PIGEONS. 


165 


“ Will  you  come  in  and  rest  a moment, 
Mary  ? ” said  Cecil,  leading  Mary  inside  the 
gate. 

“ What ! does  all  this  land  belong  to  you, 
my  little  friend  ? 55  exclaimed  Mary,  as  she 
entered. 

“ I am  only  to  take  care  of  it,”  replied  Ce- 
cil. Then  he  added,  laughing,  “ I would 
like  to  have  you  rest  yourself,  but  I have  no 
chairs.” 

Here  is  an  excellent  seat,  better  than  any 
chair,”  said  the  girl,  sitting  down  on  the  grass. 

Cecil  sat  down  beside  her.  “ Will  you 
allow  me  to  hold  your  pigeons  in  my  hand  a 
moment  ? ” 

“ They  are  yours,”  said  Mary,  putting 
them  on  his  arm ; “ but  you  will  not  eat 
them,  will  you  ? ” 

“ No,  indeed,”  replied  Cecil ; “ I will  take 
care  of  them  and  feed  them.  By  the  bye, 
Mary,  what  do  you  give  them  to  eat  ? ” 


166 


CECIL. 


“ Generally  they  live  on  seeds,  but  I only 
give  them  bread.  Have  you  got  any  bread  ? ” 
« No.” 

“ You  have  at  least  money  to  buy  some?” 

“Yes,  indeed,”  said  Cecil,  jingling  his 
money  in  his  pocket.  “ If  I only  knew 
where  there  was  a baker ! I feel  hungry 
now.” 

“ W ait,  and  I will  look  for  one,”  said 
Mary. 

Mary  soon  returned  with  a four-pound  loaf 
of  bread,  and  a bunch  of  radishes. 

“ This  is  my  treat,”  said  she  ; “ I got  the 
money  from  selling  four  of  my  pigeons  yester- 
day morning.” 

“ We  ought  to  have  a table,”  said  Cecil. 

Mary  looked  around,  and  seeing  the  pile 
of  planks,  she  ran  and  selected  a wide  and 
short  one;  then  wiping  it  with  her  apron,  she 
put  it  across  a large  stone,  placed  the  bread 
and  radishes  on  it,  and  sitting  down  on  the 


THE  PAIR  OF  PIGEONS. 


167 


grass,  said,  <c  Here  is  a table,  my  little  friend. 
See  what  a nice  table  ! ” 

Cecil  seated  himself,  and  Fox  took  his 
station  in  front  of  him.  The  pigeons  also 
were  on  the  ground,  and  they  all  ate  with 
great  enjoyment. 

After  a few  minutes  Mary  exclaimed,  “ O ! 
we  have  nothing  to  drink  ! I forgot  that  we 
must  drink ! My  brother  would  not  have 
forgotten  that.  I have  a goblet,”  said  she, 
taking  a pewter  mug  out  of  her  pocket ; “ but 
with  what  shall  we  fill  it  ? ” 

“ Fox,”  said  Cecil,  addressing  the  dog,  and 
showing  the  mug,  “where  is  there  any  water? 
You  go  and  find  some.”  Then  turning  to 
Mary,  he  added  : “ Fox  is  very  quick  at 

that.” 

At  sight  ;of  the  mug,  Fox  immediately 
began  to  rub  his  nose  along  the  ground. 
Suddenly  he  ran  towards  the  gate  of  the 
inclosure.  Cecil  went  after  him,  opened  the 


168 


CECIL. 


gate,  and  followed  the  dog  until  they  came  to 
the  side  of  a fountain  ! Cecil  quenched  his 
thirst,  gave  Fox  a drink,  then  rinsing  out  the 
mug,  he  re-filled  it  with  water,  and  carried  it 
carefully  towards  the  inclosure.  As  soon  as 
he  saw  Mary,  he  exclaimed  : 

“ Behold  ! here  is  water  ! ” 

Mary  took  the  mug,  drank  part  of  the  water 
herself,  then  gave  some  to  the  pigeons. 

“While  you  were  away,”  said  she  to  Cecil, 
“ I have  thought  of  something.  You  have 
enough  grass  here  to  feed  a hundred  rabbits.” 
“ If  you  have  any  rabbits,  good  Mary,  it  is 
at  your  service.” 

“ I have  none  ; but  the  gardener,  who  em- 
ploys me  to  sell  his  herbs,  has  several ; will  you 
allow  me  to  gather  a little  grass  for  them  ? ” 

“ Certainly,  with  pleasure,”  i^lied  Cecil; 
“ and  I will  assist  you.” 

Cecil  and  Mary  ran  frolicking  about,  trying 
which  could  gather  the  largest  bunch. 


THE  PAIR  OF  PIGEONS. 


169 


When  Mary’s  apron  was  full,  she  said  : 
“ Now  I must  bid  you  good  morning,  my  little 
friend.  If  I have  a moment  to  spare,  I will 
come  to  see  you  to-morrow  evening.  Keep 
my  mug  ; it  will  be  more  useful  to  you  than 
it  is  to  me.” 

Cecil  thanked  her,  and  followed  her  to  the 
gate.  On  his  return,  he  glanced  around  his 
large  tract  of  land,  and  said  to  himself. 

“ Here  I am  like  Robinson  Crusoe,  in  my 
desert  island,  with  this  difference,  that  Robin- 
son’s island  was  surrounded  by  water,  and 
mine  is  encircled  by  stones.  But  I have 
more  companions  than  he  had,  for  I have  a 
dog  and  two  pigeons,  so  I am  happier  than 
he ! ” Cecil  was  unaccustomed  to  solitude, 
and,  though  it  did  not  alarm  him,  it  made 
him  feel  a little  melancholy.  He  began  talk- 
ing to  his  dog  and  then  to  the  pigeons,  and 
caressed  each  alternately.  The  setting  sun 

reminded  him  that  he  had  prepared  no  shelter 

15 


170 


CECIL. 


for  the  night,  and  he  was  soon  busily  at  work 
with  the  planks. 

He  selected  the  corner  of  the  wall  pointed 
out  by  Mr.  Raimond,  and  began  to  make 
the  floor  by  placing  boards  of  equal  length 
close  together  ; then  he  tried  to  stand  them 
upright  to  form  the  two  sides,  which  were 
wanting  ; but  he  found  this  very  difficult, 
and  as  the  night  was  fast  approaching,  he 
determined  to  sleep  with  only  the  blue  sky 
for  his  roof. 

I * 

Having  come  to  this  resolution,  after  eating 
a little  bread,  he  gathered  some  grass  and 
formed  a nest  for  his  pigeons  ; then  he  laid 
himself  down  upon  the  planks,  which  he  had 
arranged  for  the  floor  of  his  house,  but  he 
found  them  very  hard. 

“ Oh  ! what  would  I not  give  for  a bundle 
of  hay  or  straw  ! ” 

By  chance  his  eyes  fell  on  the  nest  of  his 
pigeons,  and  he  exclaimed : “ Why  can  I not 


CECIL  IN  THE  GARDEN, 


THE  PAIR  OF  PIGEONS. 


171 


make  a bed  for  myself  as  I have  done  for  my 
pigeons  ? ” and  he  .gathered  some  grass  and 
strewed  it  in  thick  layers  on  the  planks. 
Once  more  he  laid  down,  and,  with  Fox  at 
his  feet,  he  soon  fell  into  a sound  slumber. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


THE  TEN  FRANCS  BEGIN  TO  GATHER  INTEREST. 

In  the  morning  when  Cecil  awoke,  he  felt  stiff 
and  bruised.  He  fed  his  dog  and  pigeons, 
and  then  reflected  how  he  should  provide 
himself  with  a more  comfortable  lodging  for 
the  next  night. 

“ These  boards  will  never  do,”  said  he ; 
“ I have  plenty  of  different  kinds  of  stones 
here,  and  after  helping  the  masons  and  looking 
at  them  for  two  weeks,  I ought  to  know  how 
to  pile  them  together.  But  I must  have  some 
mortar.  Where  shall  I find  any  ? ” 

He  went  to  the  fountain  for  a drink,  and 
accidentally  met  a company  of  masons  as 
they  were  going  to  their  work.  He  followed 


THE  TEN  FRANCS  GATHER  INTEREST.  173 

them  with  the  intention  of  asking  their  advice. 
On  his  way  he  thought  of  everything  that  he 
should  say  to  excite  their  interest.  He  reached 
the  hotel  of  the  garden  Beaujon,  at  the  same 
moment  as  the  masons. 

“ Sir,”  said  he,  addressing  the  youngest 
one;  which  made  all  the  others  look  around, 
“ will  you  do  me  a little  favor?” 

“I?”  replied  the  man  insolently. 

“You,  or  one  of  these  other  gentlemen,” 
returned  Cecil,  a little  disconcerted  : “ I want 
to  build  a house  in  that  inclosure  over  there ; 
and,  if  you  would  be  so  kind  — — ” 

“ As  to  build  it  for  you  ? ” interrupted  the 
mason,  whom  Cecil  had  just  addressed. 

“ Shall  we  make  it  four  stories  hio-h,  or 
seven  ? ” asked  another. 

“ Will  you  have  it  surrounded  by  a colon- 
nade ? ” asked  a third — “ with  gilded  corni 
ces?  What  style  of  architecture  do  yau  like 
best  ? ” 


15* 


174 


CECIL. 


“A  colonnade  like  that  of  the  Louvre?” 
demanded  a fourth. 

“ He  wants  a villa,  I suppose,  like  a 
lord’s ! ” said  a fifth, 

“ A strong  fortress  ! ” said  a sixth  ; “ with 
battlements,  turrets  and  draw-bridges,  and 
surrounded  by  ditches  of  water — in  the  style 
of  Francis  the  First  ? ” 

“ Or  a palace,  perhaps — who  knows  ? ” 
added  a seventh. 

“ And  how  much,  Sir,  will  you  pay  the 
workmen?”  rejoined  the  first  mason,  with  a 
sneer,  which  drew  forth  a roar  of  laughter 
from  the  whole  troop. 

Bewildered  by  this  burst  of  malicious  mer- 
riment, Cecil  remained  a moment  without 
replying ; but  soon  taking  courage,  he  looked 
up,  and  said  : 

“In  this  world  we  should  all  assist  one  ano- 
ther, gentlemen.  I ask  nothing  without  intend- 
ing to  compensate  you,  if  it  is  in  my  power.” 


THE  TEN  FRANCS  GATHER  INTEREST.  175 


“ Admirable  reasoning  ! The  little  brat 
has  become  a preacher  already.  I admire 
him  exceedingly ,”  replied  the  youngest  of 
the  masons,  who  appeared  to  be  the  chief 
speaker  ; “ finish  your  sermon,  venerable  Sir  ; 
go  on,  worthy  pastor.” 

“I  do  not  know  how  to  build  a house,” 
said  Cecil  ; “ but  I know  how  to  read,  write, 
and  play  on  the  violin.” 

“ Very  well,  go  and  write,  read,  and  play 
on  the  violin, — and  build  your  house  with 
those  accomplishments.” 

“You  do  not  understand  me,”  said  Cecil, 
much  disconcerted.  “ If  any  of  you  would 
like  to  learn  to  read,  or  write,  or  play  on  the 
violin,  I will  teach  him,  if  in  return  he  will 
lend  me  a hand  in  building  my  house.” 

“ I will  lend  you  a foot,”  said  the  youngest 
of  the  masons,  advancing  with  a menacing 
gesture.  But  just  as  he  was  raising  his  foot, 
a young  girl  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 


176 


CECIL. 


“ Are  you  not  ashamed,  brother,’’  said  she 
to  him,  “ to  attempt  to  beat  a child  ? and  this 
child,  above  all  others  ! ” 

“ Oh  ! it  is  Miss  Mary  ! Good  morning, 
Miss  ! ” said  the  masons,  bowing  politely  to 
her. 

“ Well  ! who  is  this  child,  that  I should  be 
afraid  to  touch  him?”  asked  Mary’s  brother, 
roughly. 

“ Who  is  he?”  replied  Mary,  with  energy  ; 
and  seizing  Cecil’s  hand,  she  pressed  it  to  her 
heart.  “ Who  he  is,  is  no  matter;  but  I will 
tell  you  what  he  has  done,  gentlemen  ? ” 

And,  with  a voice  full  of  gratitude  and  emo- 
tion, Mary  related  the  service  he  had  rendered 
her  father.  As  she  spoke,  the  countenances 
of  all  the  masons  became  attentive  and  serious  ; 
they  unconsciously  drew  nearer  to  the  child, 
and  regarded  him  with  respect — almost  with 
reverence.  Tears  filled  their  eyes,  when 
Mary  told  how  generously  Cecil  had  given 


THE  TEN  FRANCS  GATHER  INTEREST.  177 


the  ten  francs  to  her  father ; and  they  broke 
forth  with  one  unanimous  exclamation  of — 

“ Bravo  ! bravo  ! Shake  hands  with  the 
fine  little  fellow  ! Pardon  our  rudeness  ! you 
are  a brave  and  noble  child ; shake  hands  ! ” 
And  the  coarse  and  brawny  hands  of  the 
workmen  were  extended  towards  Cecil,  who 
grasped  them  in  turn. 

One  only  of*  these  men  did  not  approach 
Cecil  and  offer  his  hand ; his  back  was 
turned  on  his  comrades,  and  he  was  sobbing 
and  stamping  his  feet  on  the  ground.  It  was 
Mary’s  brother. 

“ Well,  Paul,”  said  Mary  kindly,  “ you 
repent  having  spent  the  money  in  drinking 
at  the  tavern,  while  a stranger  did  not  hesitate 
to  deprive  himself  to  succor  your  father — is  it 
not  so  ? ” 

“ Don’t  speak  to  me,”  replied  Paul,  rough- 
ly; “ I am  an  unfortunate  miserable  crea- 
ture 1 I do  not  deserve  to  live,  and  I will 


178 


CECIL. 


throw  myself  into  the  first  horse-pond  I come 
across  ! ” 

“ Brother ! it  is  very  wicked  for  you  to 
speak  in  that  manner/’  said  Mary. 

“ It  is  both  wicked  and  stupid,  and  he  is 
a bad  son  to  talk  of  drowning  himself,  when 
he  can  work  and  earn  money  for  his  poor 
father  ! ” added  one  of  the  masons. 

“ Your  comrade  is  right,”  said  Mary ; 
“ banish  these  bad  thoughts  from  your  mind, 
apply  yourself  diligently  to  work,  and  go  to 
the  tavern  no  more.” 

“ No,  indeed,  I will  never  set  my  feet 
inside  of  the  tavern  again,  I swear ” 

“ Do  not  swear,”  said  Mary,  “ but  eat  your 
soup  while  it  is  hot ; ” and  she  took  a bowl 
of  soup  from  the  basket  which  she  carried  on 
her  arm,  and  presented  it  to  her  brother. 

“ I do  not  wish  it,”  said  Paul  ; “ I do  not 
deserve  it.  Give  it  to  the  little  boy.  As  a 


THE  TEN  FRANCS  GATHER  INTEREST.  179 


penance,  I shall  eat  nothing  but  bread  and 
water  for  the  whole  week.” 

“ You  are  right,  Paul,”  said  his  comrades  ; 
“ it  will  do  you  good  to  punish  yourself. 
Give  the  soup  to  the  little  boy,  Miss.” 

“ Do  you  think  I had  forgotten  him  ? ” 
replied  Mary,  handing  a second  bowl  to  Cecil. 

“ What ! you  have  thought  of  me,  Mary  ! ” 
exclaimed  Cecil,  his  eyes  brightening  at  the 
sight  of  the  good  warm  soup,  which  he  had 
not  tasted  for  so  long  a time. 

“And  I thought,  also,  that  I might  as  well 
bring  you  a jug  to  hold  water,  a plate,  a pew- 
ter spoon,  and  a knife,”  said  Mary,  handing 
him  a little  parcel. 

“ Oh,  how  rich  I am  ! and  how  good  you 
are!”  exclaimed  Cecil,  joyfully. 

“Young  master,”  said  the  eldest  of  the 
masons,  “ you  live  on  the  land  belonging  to 
father  Raimond,  do  you  not?  Very  well1 
keep  yourself  quiet  and  contented,  and  after 


J80 


CECIL. 


our  work  is  finished  here,  as  we  shall  still 
have  three  hours  during  which  it  is  light 

o o 

enough  to  see,  and  as  we  are  twenty  of  us, 
it  will  be  strange  if  your  house  is  not  ready 
before  night.  You  have  rendered  a great 
service  to  the  poor  father  of  one  of  our  com- 
rades; you  are  a brave  boy,  and  all  these 
men  should  work  for  you.  Depend  upon  our 
coming  to  your  assistance  this  evening.” 

“ Yes,  depend  on  us,”  said  Paul  ; and 
Cecil  offered  his  hand  to  him,  but  Paul  drew 
back,  saying,  “ I do  not  deserve  it.” 

The  masons  were  as  good  as  their  word, 
and  towards  sun-down  they  arrived  on  Mr. 
Raimond’s  ground  with  their  trowels,  mortar, 
and  everything  necessary  for  building.  Cecil 
showed  them  the  corner  he  had  selected,  and 
they  were  soon  busily  employed. 

It  was  delightful  to  see  them  work — they 
were  all  in  such  good  humor.  They  made 
the  two  walls  which  were  to  form  the  square 


THE  TEN  FRANCS  GATHER  INTEREST.  181 


of  the  chamber,  as  high  as  their  heads  ; then 
covered  them  over  the  top  with  the  planks, 
upon  which  they  placed  some  tiles. 

“ We  will  complete  your  house  to-morrow,” 
said  the  masons  to  Cecil. 

“ I will  bring  you  a door,”  said  one  of 
them. 

u And  I a nice  straw  bed,”  said  another. 

“ And  I a chair,”  said  a third. 

“ And  do  you  think  I will  be  behind-hand  ? ” 
exclaimed  a fourth  ; “I  will  bring  him  a table, 
and  a coverlet  for  his  bed.” 

“ Oh.  gentlemen  ! gentlemen  ! ” exclaimed 
Cecil,  much  affected,  “ you  are  all  too  good 
to  me.” 

“You  have  well  merited  all  the  kindness 
we  can  show,”  replied  the  men,  who  in  the 
morning  had  amused  themselves  with  torment- 
ing and  abusing  him,  but  who  now  felt  as 
though  they  could  not  do  enough  to  serve  him. 

Paul  was  the  only  one  who  offered  nothing, 

16 


182 


CECIL. 


and  stood  aloof  as  though  he  was  ashamed. 
Cecil  perceived  this. 

“ Will  you  not  shake  hands  with  me  now,” 
said  he  to  Paul,  “ that  I may  thank  you  as  I 
have  thanked  the  others  ? ” 

“ You  may  thank  me,”  replied  Paul,  “ when 
I have  earned  enough  money  to  pay  you  the 
ten  francs  you  have  lent  to  my  father.” 

“ Oh  ! I do  not  want  them,”  replied  Cecil. 
“ Those  ten  francs  have  done  me  more  good 
than  if  I had  kept  them  in  my  pocket.  It 
was  owing  to  them  that  I have  this  ground — 
this  house  — — ” 

“ And  many  friends,”  added  the  oldest  of 
the  masons.  “ But  you  owe  all  these  to 
your  kind  heart.  A good  action  never  goes 
unrewarded.” 

“ Oh  no,”  said  Cecil,  devoutly  raising  his 
eyes  to  heaven  ; “ God  will  reward  you  all  a 
hundred  fold.” 

When  the  masons  bade  Cecil  good  evening 


the  ten  francs 


GATHER  INTEREST.  183 

he  entered  his  little  house  and  fell  on  his 
knees  to  return  thanks  to  God  for  all  his 
blessings.  He  had  not  finished  his  prayers, 
which  were  longer  this  evening  than  uSual, 
when  his  attention  was  distracted  by  his  dog, 
who  stood  on  the  outside  of  the  house,  barking 
and  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on  one  corner  of 
the  inclosure 

/ 


\ 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


THE  ROBBERS  AND  THE  NATIONAL  GUARD. 

From  the  corner  where  Cecil  was  praying 
he  could  perceive  at  the  other  end  of  the 
inclosure,  by  the  pale  light  of  the  nroon,  two 
shadows,  which  moved  towards  the  fruit  trees. 
Soon  the  shadows  came  nearer,  and  he  could 
distinctly  see  two  men.  His  first  feeling,  it 
must  be  acknowledged,  was  terror.  His  se- 
cond impulse  was  to  call  for  aid.  But  on 
whom  should  he  call  ? He  remembered  the 
little  horn.  It  was  the  only  piece  of  furniture 
in  his  house,  therefore  he  had  no  difficulty 
in  finding  it.  He  blew  three  long  and  clear 
notes,  then  withdrawing  into  his  house,  awaited 
the  result. 


THE  ROBBERS  AND  NATIONAL  GUARD.  185 


Frst  he  saw  the  robbers,  apparently  alarmed, 
running  towards  a part  of  the  wall  which  was 
low  and  obscurely  situated.  A moment  after- 
wards he  heard  the  steps  of  the  patrol  and 
the  cries,  “ Who  goes  there  ? — reply,  or  we 
fire  ! ” He  then  heard  the  firing  of  a pistol, 
and  the  same  voices  exclaim,  “ We  have 
caught  them  ! ” 

Cecil  went  towards  the  gate,  opened  it,  and 
beheld  not  far  off  a company  of  the  National 
Guard,  surrounding  two  men  of  unprepos- 
sessing appearance.  He  approached  nearer, 
and  the  light,  which  one  of  the  guards  car- 
ried, fell  directly  onsthese  men.  Cecil  could 
not  help  exclaiming,  “ Hold  ! those  are  the 
strangers  who  accosted  me  the  evening  before 
last ! ” 

This  exclamation  caused  one  of  the  guards, 
whose  dress  designated  him  as  a corporal,  to 
turn  around  and  ask  Cecil  for  an  explanation 

of  his  words. 

16* 


186 


CECIL. 


“ First,”  said  Cecil,  “ let  me  tel]  you  it  was 
I who  sounded  the  horn.” 

“ What  ! you  are  the  child  whose  history 
my  uncle  Raimond  related  to  me,  and  who  is 
to  keep  watch  over  his  land  ? ” inquired  the 
corporal. 

“ Yes,  Sir,”  replied  Cecil. 

“ And  you  know  these  men  ? ” added  he, 
pointing  to  the  malefactors,  whom  the  guards 
held  fast. 

Cecil  replied,  without  hesitation:  “Yes, 

I know  them  ; that  is  to  say,  in  returning 
home  the  evening  before  last,  I was  accosted 
by  one  of  them- — that  one — the  taller,  who 
asked  me,  with  a foreign  accent,  the  way  to 
Orleans  street.  I replied  that  I was  just  go- 
ing to  ask  him  the  way  to  Great  Louis  street, 
when  that  other  man  came  up,  and  told  us 
that  those  two  streets  were  close  to  each 
other — ” 

“ Really,”  interrupted  the  corporal,  laugh- 


THE  ROBBERS  AND  NATIONAL  GUARD.  187 


mg,  “ they  are  three  miles  distant  from  each 
other.” 

“I  knew  nothing  of  that,”  said  Cecil,  “for 
I am  a stranger  in  Paris.  That  man  told  us 
he  would  conduct  us  where  we  wished  to  go, 
and  we  followed  him.  On  our  way  we  en- 
countered an  old  man,  who  had  nearly  broken 
his  arm  by  a fall.  I begged  these  two  men 
to  come  with  me  to  his  assistance,  but  they 
refused.  You  know  I could  not  leave  the 
poor  man  there  alone  ; it  would  have  been 
both  wicked  and  unfeeling.  I wished  to  stay, 
and  they  wished  to  lead  me  away.  They 
took  hold  of  my  arms.  I told  them  if  they 
did  not  unhand  me  I would  scream  thief! 
At  this,  they  were  frightened,  and  ran  off  at 
full  speed.” 

“You  made  the  right  crv,  as  they  were 
really  thieves,”  replied  the  corporal.  “ You 
see,  my  child,  your  goodness  of  heart  saved 
you  from  very  disagreeable  company,  not  to 


188 


CECIL. 


speak  of  how  dangerous  your  companions 
might  have  been.” 

“ And  what  did  you  do  for  the  blind  man  ? ” 
inquired  one  of  the  guards,  as  his  comrades 
led  away  the  robbers. 

“ I will  tell  you,”  replied  the  corporal, 
quickly  ; and  he  related  the  noble  and  gene- 
rous conduct  of  Cecil. 

Seeing  their  delight  at  this  recital,  Cecil 
said,  with  beautiful  simplicity  : “ And  would 
not  any  of  you  have  done  the  same,  gentle- 
men ? Come,  will  you  go  with  me  and  see 
my  house  ? ” 

“Your  house!”  said  Mr.  Raimond’s  ne- 
phew; “why,  if  you  have  a tree  to  perch  on 
in  my  uncle’s  tract  of  ground  you  are  fortun 
ate  ! ” 

“ Come,  come  and  see  ! ” replied  Cecil. 

“ Is  that  where  you  sleep  ? ” exclaimed 
they  all,  at  sight  of  the  naked  walls  and  the 
grass  scattered  on  the  floor. 


THE  ROBBERS  AND  NATIONAL  GUARD.  189 


“ To  be  sure  ! ” replied  the  child,  gaily  ; 
then  he  added,  shaking  his  head,  C£  it  is  just 
one  month  since  the  death  of  my  poor  uncle. 
I should  have  thought  myself  very  unhappy 
during  his  life  to  have  had  no  better  dwelling 

o o 

than  this.  But  now,  after  having  had  cause 
to  dread  passing  a night  in  the  street,  and 
being  taken  up  by  the  town  criers  and  carried 
off  to  prison  as  a vagabond,  I thank  God  that 
I have  this  place  to  rest  in,  gentlemen.” 

“Poor  child!”  said  they  all,  much  inter- 
ested by  the  words  of  Cecil,  but  still  more  by 
the  artless  simplicity  with  which  they  were 
delivered  : “ But  how  does  it  happen  that  you 
are  alone  in  Paris  ? ” 

Cecil  replied  as  usual,  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  tell  them,  because  he  must  not  speak  ill  of 
his  relations. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  the  corporal,  ce  we  must 
do  something  for  this  child.” 

“ I am  not  rich,  gentleman,”  said  one  of 


190 


CECIL. 


them;  “ my  business  is  making  shoes,  and  I 
will  give  him  a pair,  as  I see  those  he  has  on 
are  much  the  worse  for  wear.  In  the  mean- 
time here  are  five  francs,  corporal.” 

“ And  I,”  said  another,  “ will  send  him  a 
bedstead  and  a matress  to-morrow.” 

“ Here  is  my  offering,  corporal ! ” 

“ And  mine  ! ” 

“ And  mine  ! ” 

The  corporal  took  the  money  from  all  of 
them,  and  presented  it  to  Cecil,  who  drew 
back,  blushing. 

“ I do  not  want  it  ! ” said  he  ; “ I do  not 
want  it  ! ” 

“ Take  it,”  said  the  corporal. 

“ No — keep  it,  gentlemen,”  said  the  child. 
“ I do  not  know  why ; perhaps  it  was  the 
education  my  uncle  gave  me — but  I do  not 
like  to  receive  money  from  every  body.  If 
you  will  give  me  work,  then  I might  earn  this 
money  and  would  not  mind  taking  it.” 


THE  ROBBERS  AND  NATIONAL  GUARD.  191 


“ But  what  can  you  do  ? ” asked  the  cor- 
poral. “Do  you  know  how  to  read  and 
write  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  replied  Cecil. 

“ And  can  you  spell  well  ? ” 

“ I only  make  errors  in  proper  names,” 
replied  the  child. 

“ Well,  I am  a printer,”  said  the  corporal ; 
“one  of  my  correctors  of  the  proof  sheets  has 
weak  eyes,  and,  if  you  would  like  to  be  his 
assistant,  he  will  give  you  instruction.  Come 
early  to-morrow  morning  to  No.  16  Cadron 
street,  and  you  shall  have  work.  In  the 
meantime  accept  these  twenty  francs  ; take 
them  as  a loan,  if  not  as  a gift,  and  you  can 
return  them  when  you  are  able.” 

“ As  a loan,  then,  I will  take  them,”  said 
Cecil  ; “ but  I can  assure  you  that  I will  pay 
them  back.” 

The  guard  then  shook  hands  with  Cecil, 
and  bade  him  good  night. 


192 


CECIL 


“Truly  is  it  said,”  thought  Cecil,  feeling 
the  weight  of  his  money  in  his  hand,  “ that 
more  is  gained  by  doing  good  than  evil.  To- 
morrow I will  ask  Mary  to  buy  me  some  shirts 
and  stockings.” 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


HOW  TEN  FRANCS  WITHOUT  BEING  PUT  OUT 
AT  INTEREST  CAN  INCREASE  TO  A LARGE 
CAPITAL. 

Cecil  rose  early  the  next  morning.  The 
idea  of  being  employed  in  a printing  office, 
had  kept  him  awake  half  the  night.  After 
breakfasting  on  some  of  the  bread  and  rad- 
ishes, which  yet  remained,  sharing  his  meal 
with  his  dog  and  pigeons,  he  took  his  way 
to  the  printing  office,  accompanied  by  Fox. 

He  had  walked  only  a few  steps,  when  he 
met  the  corporal,  who  was  just  getting  into  a 
wagon. 

u You  come  in  good  time,”  said  the  cor- 
poral ; “jump  in,  and  I will  see  you  safely 

installed  in  the  office  myself.” 

17 


194 


CECIL. 


Cecil  seated  himself  beside  his  new  patron, 
Fox  followed  the  wagon,  and  in  a quarter  of 
an  hour’s  time,  they  arrived  at  the  largest 
printing  establishment  in  Paris. 

“ Mr.  Germain,”  said  the  printer,  intro- 
ducing Cecil  to  an  old  man,  who  wore  a pair 
of  green  spectacles — “ here  is  a little  boy, 
who  will  aid  you  in  correcting  proofs ; you 
can  tell  me,  by  this  evening,  whether  he  is 
capable  of  doing  the  business.” 

“ I will  tell  you  well  enough  before  an 
hour,”  replied  Mr.  Germain,  crossly  ; and 
then  he  muttered  : “ The  idea  of  bringing 
such  a child  into  this  large  printing  office. 
Come  here,  little  boy,”  added  he,  conducting 
Cecil  to  a private  inclosure  behind  a grating, 
situated  in  the  middle  of  the  composing  room.  * 
“ Correct  that  sheet  for  me.  Zounds,  lad  ! 

[t  isn’t  to  be  corrected  like  a page  of  writing. 
You  do  not  know  the  signs,  then  ?” 

“ It  is  the  first  time  I have  ever  been  in  a 


THE  TEN  FRANCS  INCREASE.  195 


printing  office,  Sir,”  replied  Cecil,  in  so  sad 
and  sweet  a tone,  that  the  old  man  replied 
rather  more  kindly  : 

“ Come,  sit  down,  then  ; it  is  quite  an  al- 
phabet to  learn.  Whose  dog  is  that?”  added 
he,  looking  at  Fox,  who,  with  his  tail  between 
his  legs,  had  drawn  himself  up  in  as  small 
a compass  as  possible  in  one  corner  of  the 
room. 

“ He  is  mine,”  replied  Cecil ; “ pray  do 
not  hurt  him,  Sir.  Fox  will  not  be  in  your 
way  at  all,  I can  assure  you  ; but,  on  the 
contrary,  he  may  be  useful.” 

“ Useful  ! A dog  useful  ! And  in  a print- 
ing office  ! ” exclaimed  the  proof  corrector, 
shrugging  his  shoulders. 

“Yes,  Sir,  useful — ‘one  has  often  need  of 
a smaller  than  one’s  self,’  you  know.” 

“ Do  you  mean  that  for  me,  Judge  ? ” 

Cecil,  who  feared  he  had  made  Mr.  Ger- 
main angry,  replied  ingenuously  : “ 1 wish 


196 


CECIL. 


that  you  had  as  much  need  of  my  dog  and 
me,  as  I have  of  you,  Sir.” 

Mr.  Germain  was  quite  softened  by  the 
submissive  tone  of  the  child  ; and  his  coun- 
tenance assumed  a more  pleasant  expression. 
“ You  have  never  been  in  a printing  estab- 
lishment,” said  he ; “ then  before  going  to 
work,  let  me  show  you  how  we  manage. 
You  see  that  all  the  people  in  this  room  are 
engaged  in  setting  up  the  types.  They  select 
the’ letters  that  spell  whatever  is  written  on  the 
paper  before  them  ; and  after  arranging  them 
in  pages,  place  them  on  that  large  iron  print- 
ing press  in  the  next  room.  When  they 
have  enough  of  these  pages  to  fill  a large 
sheet  of  paper,  they  cover  them  over  with 
ink  ; then  they  lay  over  them  the  sheet  of 
paper,  and  upon  this,  by  means  of  the  press, 
they  take  an  impression  of  the  types.  This 
first  impression  is  called  the  proof  sheet.  It 
is  generally  pretty  full  of  errors  ; sometimes, 


THE  TEN  FRANCS  INCREASE.  197 


because  the  man  who  sets  up  the  types,  and 
who  is  called  the  compositor,  has  forgotten 
some  of  the  letters  ; and  sometimes  because 
of  the  authpr’s  having  made  mistakes  in  the 
manuscript.  It  is  this  proof  sheet  that  we  are 
to  correct.  Do  you  understand  ? ” 

“ Perfectly,  Sir,” 

“ Now  sit  down  by  me,  and  let  us  com- 
mence.” 

Cecil  was  So  tractable,  so  polite,  and 
so  amiable,  that  before  the  end  of  the  day, 
he  and  Mr.  Germain  had  become  excellent 
friends.  Cecil  related  his  adventures,  and 
Mr.  Germain  offered  to  let  him  board  at  his 
house  ; or  rather  to  eat  there ; for  he  said 
that  his  wife  loved  children  and  dogs  very 
much. 

“ But  I have  very  little  money  to  pay  my 
board,”  replied  Cecil. 

“ You  can  earn  two  francs  a day  here,” 
said  Mr.  Germain. 

17* 


198 


CECIL. 


Cecil  repeated  in  great  astonishment:  “Two 
francs  ! ” 

Mr.  Germain  replied : “ I get  six  francs 

myself,  and  soon  you  may  make  as  much. 
Two  francs  a day,  are  sixty  francs  a month  ; 
if  you  give  my  wife  twenty  cents  a day,  you 
shall  have  breakfast  and  supper  for  yourself 
and  dog.  How  will  that  suit  you  ? ” 

“Very  well  indeed,  I think,  Sir, — Heavenly 
Father!”  added  the  child,  raising  his  tearful 
eyes  to  heaven,  “ Thou  hast  not  forsaken  me, 
and  I heartily  thank  thee  ! ” 

“You  are  religious,”  said  the  old  man; 
so  much  the  better ; my  wife  will  adore 
you.  She  will  prove  to  you,  that  all  the 
good  fortune  you  have  had  has  been  owing 
to  your  own  good  conduct.  She  will  first 
applaud  your  kindness  in  not  having  forsaken 
this  poor  wounded  dog,  and  in  sharing  with 
him  your  cent’s  worth  of  bread  ; for,  if  you 
had  abandoned  the  poor  dog,  the  invalid 


THE  TEN  FRANCS  INCREASE.  199 


would  not  have  offered  to  let  you  sleep  in  the 
house  with  him.  She  will  then  show  you 
that  if  you  had  not  slept  there,  you  would 
not  have  taught  the  masons  to  read,  and  they 
would  not  have  given  you  the  ten  francs  ; 
that  these  ten  francs  would  have  caused  you  to 
become  the  prey  of  robbers,  if  your  kindness 
of  heart  had  not  again  saved  you  ; that  if 
you  had  not  relieved  the  blind  old  man  and 
given  him  your  ten  francs,  Mr.  Raimond 
would  not  have  established  you  as  guard 
over  his  tract  of  land  ; the  blind  man’s  son 
and  his  comrades  would  not  have  built  you 
a little  cottage  ; and  finally,  you  would  not 
have  become  corrector  of  proofs  in  a printing 
house  at  Paris.  There  ! My  wife  will  prove 
to  you  a great  many  other  things  ; she  will 
make  you  feel  that  your  dog  and  your  ten 
francs  will  be  the  means  of  your  acquiring  a 
large  and  brilliant  fortune  ! ” 

Cecil  laughed  heartily. 


“ In  the  mean- 


200 


CE£IL. 


while/’  said  he,  “my  shoes  and  stockings 
are  in  holes,  and  I sleep,  as  Robinson  Crusoe 
did,  on  a bed  of  leaves.” 

Precisely  as  Mr.  Germain  had  promised, 
Cecil  was  engaged  in  the  printing  office  of  Mr. 
Raimond’s  nephew,  for  two  francs  a day  ; and 
he  was  introduced  to  Mrs.  Germain,  who  paid 
so  much  attention  to  him  and  to  his  dog  at  the 
table,  that  the  husband  complained  of  neglect. 

It  was  not  yet  night  when  Cecil  took  leave 
of  his  new  friends  ; and,  with  a light  heart 
and  lighter  steps,  followed  by  Fox,  ran  down 
the  long  walks  of  the  Champs  Elysees. 

As  he  approached  his  dwelling  hfe  encoun- 
tered Mary,  who  appeared  to  be  awaiting  his 
return.  She  held  in  her  hand  a handkerchief 
folded  like  a cravat. 

“ Will  you  allow  me  to  bandage  your  eyes 
Cecil  ?”  said  she,  with  so  playful  and  happy 
a tone,  that  Cecil  held  forward  his  head,  re 
plying : 


THE  TEN  FRANCS  INCREASE. 


201 


“ Are  you  going  to  play  blind  man’s,  buff 
Mary  ? We  should  wait  till  we  get  inside 
of  the  inclosure.” 

Without  giving  any  explanation,  the  girl 
bandaged  Cecil’s  eyes,  and,  taking  him  by 
the  hand,  led  him  on  so  fast,  that  he  had 
almost  to  run  to  keep  up  with  her. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


AN  AGREEABLE  SURPRISE. 

As  they  approached  Mr.  Raimond’s  land, 
Cecil  thought  he  heard  smothered  laughter, 
low  whisperings,  and  a shuffling  of  many 
feet.  When  he  felt  the  floor  of  his  hut  under 
his  feet, ’the  bandage  fell  from  his  eyes,  and 
he  looked  around  without  recognizing  the 
place.  The  rough  and  naked  walls  were 
no  longer  to  be  seen.  They  were  covered 
with  pretty  flowered  paper.  Instead  of  the 
great  square  place  without  doors,  <jr  windows, 
or  furniture,  now  appeared  a beautiful  room, 
well  closed,  and  in  which  nothing  was  want 
iog.  At  the  right,  was  an  iron  bedstead, 
imnished  with  a mattrass,  a bolster,  and  a 


AN  AGREEABLE  SURPRISE.  203 

coverlet : at  the  head  of  the  bed  was  a pretty 
washstand,  supplied  with  towels  ; and  at  the 
foot,  was  a little  cupboard,  from  which  escaped 
a savoury  smell  that  proved  this  piece  of  fur- 
niture would  not  be  the  least  useful  in  the 
room.  Added  to  all  these  there  were  two 
chairs  and  a wooden  table.  Cecil  stood  mo- 
tionless for  some  minutes,  doubting  whether 
he  was  awake  or  dreaming. 

A burst  of  noisy  and  merry  laughter,  and 
a mischievous  pinch  from  Mary  roused  him 
from  his  stupefaction,  and  convinced  him 
that  he  was  not  dreaming — that  the  vision 
was  all  reality  ! He  beheld  assembled  around 
him  the  masons,  on  the  arm  of  one  of  whom 
leaned  the  blind  man  ; and  near  them  a group 
of  young  gentlemen,  whom  he  did  not  imme- 
diately recognise,  but  in  the  midst  of  whom 
he  noticed  his  patron,  the  printer. 

“Well,  what  do  you  say  to  all  this?”  asked 
Mr.  Raimond’s  nephew,  advancing  towards 


204 


CECIL. 


him.  “ Do  you  not  think  that  the  ten  francs 
you  gave  to  this  blind  man  have  been  suffi- 
ciently profitable  to  you?  Look!  All  the 
things  here  are  yours.  They  are  sent  to  you 
by  these  gentlemen  themselves,  who  form  the 
patrol  with  whom  you  talked  last  night.  The 
linen  and  the  dishes  were  sent  to  you  by  their 
sisters.  You  will  find  in  the  under  part  of 
the  washstand,  two  pairs  of  sheets,  a dozen 
towels,  and  clothes  for  your  use  ; for  we 
happen  to  have  brothers  of  your  size.  Here 
is  a basket  of  fine  peaches  that  you  must  eat 
with  these  brave  men,  who  built  your  house , 
and,  as  I have  invited  the  blind  man,  his  son, 
and  his  daughter  to  supper,  you  will  find  a 
plenty  with  which  to  regale  them,  in  that 
cupboard.  Now  good-by,  my  brave  boy 
To-morrow  we  must  go  to  work  again.” 

Cecil  seized  the  hand,  which  the  printer 
offered,  and  exclaimed  : “ Oil ! Sir — Sir  ! V 

This  was  all  he  could  say ; but  his  tears  and 


AN  AGREEABLE  SURPRISE. 


205 


the  expression  of  his  face  were  more  eloquent 
than  words. 

The  gentlemen  withdrew,  and  Mary,  who 
doubtless  only  waited  for  this  movement  to 
open  the  cupboard,  now  quickly  turned  the 
key  in  the  lock,  and  the  doors  flew  open  and 
displayed  a large  pie,  a roasted  turkey,  and 
two  large  loaves  of  bread. 

Cecil  said  to  the  masons : “ Here  is  plenty 
for  all  ! Come,  sit  down,  and  eat  with  us  ! ” 

“ But  there  are  only  two  chairs,”  said  one 
of  the  masons. 

“ One  for  the  blind  man,  and  the  other  for 
Miss  Mary,”  replied  Cecil. 

“ It  is  a fine  evening,”  said  Mary  ; “ let  us 
sup  in  the  open  air.  Carry  the  table  outside, 
and  we  can  place  planks  over  stones  to  make 
benches.” 

“ Bravo  ! bravo  ! ” cried  the  masons,  in 
executing  Mary’s  orders.  In  a moment  the 

table  was  set  outside,  the  seats  arranged,  and 

18 


206 


CECIL. 


the  best  one  given  to  the  blind  man.  All  was 
gaiety  and  happiness  ; and  never  did  any  of 
the  party  enjoy  a heartier  or  more  jovial 
repast.  Fox  travelled  all  around  the  table, 
receiving  food  from  the  hand  of  every  one. 
And  never  did  a dog  so  wag  his  tail  as  little 
Fox  did,  during  that  merry  meal. 

At  nine  o’clock  the  party  separated  ; and 
Cecil  re-entered  his  little  room  alone.  After 
having  put  everything  in  order,  he  threw 
himself  on  his  knees  before  the  bed,  and 
thanked  God  with  great  earnestness,  for  all 
the  blessings  he  had  showered  upon  him  for 
some  days  past.  Then,  for  the  first  time 
since  he  had  been  in  Paris,  the  poor  child 
stretched  his  delicate  limbs  on  a good  bed. 

“ Oh  ! how  delightful!”  exclaimed  he; 
“how  delightful!  If  I had  not  been  deprived 
of  a bed  so  long  as  I have  been,  and  had  not 
been  forced  to  sleep  with  only  a bundle  of 
straw  for  my  pillow,  I should  never  have 


AN  AGREEABLE  SURPRISE. 


207 


known  how  great  a luxury  it  is  to  sleep  upon 
a matress ! ” 

All  at  once  lie  remembered  his  pigeons. 
He  had  quite  forgotten  them  during  the  feast ; 
and  now  wondered  what  had  become  of  them  ! 
But  the  bed  was  too  comfortable  for  him  long 
to  indulge  in  vain  regrets,  and  “ tired  nature’s 
sweet  restorer — balmy  sleep  ” — soon  banished 
his  anxiety. 

The  next  morning,  after  Cecil  had  dressed 
himself  and  said  his  prayers,  he  went  out  in 
search  of  his  pigeons.  Great  was  his  delight 
on  finding  a rude  wooden  cage,  hung  on  the 
wall  just  by  his  cottage.  The  pigeons  were 
strutting  up  and  down  before  the  door.  Be- 
neath the  cage  was  a grating,  across  which 
several  planks  were  placed.  Cecil  looked 
in,  fearfully  at  first,  wondering  what  those 
brown-looking  creatures,  with  long  ears  and 
bright  eyes  could  be.  But  suddenly  he  ex- 
claimed, “ Oh  ! they  are  rabbits  ! rabbits  ! ” 


208 


CECIL. 


He  quickly  divined  to  whom  he  was  indebt- 
ed for  this  new  gift  ; and  after  having  fed  his 
pigeons  and  his  rabbits,  he  gathered  a bundle 
of  grass,  and,  followed  by  Fox,  set  out  on 
his  way  to  the  printing  office — first  intending 
to  stop  at  the  house  of  the  gardener,  by  whom 
Mary  was  employed  to  sell  herbs,  and  leave 
the  bundle  of  grass  for  the  man’s  own  rabbits 
The  gardener’s  wife  had  gone  out,  but 
Mary  stood  at  the  door.  She  perceived  Cecil 
approaching  with  the  bundle  of  grass,  and 
cried  out  laughingly  : “ Oh  ! you  have  guessed 
mother  Grand  Jean’s  motive  for  making  you 
a present  of  the  pair  of  rabbits  ! ” 

u No,”  replied  Cecil ; “ but  as  she  has 

been  so  kind  as  to  give  them  to  me,  I thought 
I would  return  the  kindness  by  bringing  food 
for  her  rabbits.  If  she  will  permit  me,  Mary. 
I will  bring  her  some  grass  every  morning.” 

“ Certainly  she  will  be  very  glad  to  get  it,” 
replied  Mary,  taking  the  grass  from  Cecil. 


AN  AGREEABLE  SURPRISE. 


209 


“ And  how  have  you  been  all  at  home  since 
vesterday  evening  ? ” asked  Cecil. 

“ Better  and  happier  than  usual/’  replied 
Mary  ; “ for  my  brother,  ashamed  of  himself, 
and  much  affected  by  the  service  you  have 
rendered  to  our  poor  father,  made  us  a great 
many  promises  to  reform.  It  was  a shame,  he 
said,  that  a child  twelve  years  of  age  should 
be  wiser  and  better  than  he,  who  was  nine- 
teen ; and  he  wept  to  think  that  he  should  be 
spending  his  money  at  a tavern,  while  that 
child  was  working  to  save  our  father  from 


ruin.  A good  example  should  be  followed,  he 
said.  To-day  he  commences  a new  course  of 
life,  Cecil,  and  you  have  been  the  promoter 
of  this  happy  change  ! ” 

“Well,  I don’t  know  how  that  happens, 
Mary.  The  merit  is  not  due  to  me  ; the  good 
God  directs  everything,  and  to  him  we  owe 
all  we  give  the  name  of  blessing  to.” 

“ And  His  pormptings  have  been  well 

1ST 


210 


CECIL. 


heeded  by  you.  Oh  ! Cecil,  my  father  said 
yesterday  he  had  never  before  so  much 
regretted  the  loss  of  his  sight  as  when  he 
remembered  that  he  could  not  see  you  ! ” 

“ Let  us  talk  on  some  other  subject,  Mary  ; 
I have  a favor  to  ask  of  you.  As  I told  you 
yesterday,  Mr.  Germain  allows  me  to  take  my 
meals  at  his  house ; but  I have  been  used 
from  childhood  to  change  my  linen  very  fre- 
quently, and  I do  not  know  how  to  get  my 
clothes  washed  and  mended  ” — 

“ Do  not  give  yourself  any  uneasiness  about 
that,  Cecil  ; every  week  I will  go  to  your 
house  for  your  soiled  or  torn  clothes,  and  my 
mother  will  put  them  in  order.” 

“ And  I will  pay  her  for  it,”  said  Cecil. 

“ Very  well,  very  well ; we  will  not  dispute 
about  that.” 

“ It  is  now  time  to  go  to  work,”  said  Cecil. 
“ Good  by,  Mary,  until  to-morrow.” 

“ Good  by,  Cecil.” 


AN  AGREEABLE  SURPRISE. 


211 


And  now,  my  readers,  it  is  useless  to  give 
a particular  account  of  every  day’s  doings. 
Cecil  continued  to  work  in  the  printing  office, 
and,  with  the  assistance  of  Mary’s  brother, 
cultivated  his  land,  planted  potatoes  and 
salad ; took  good  care  of  the  fruit  trees, 
repaired  the  wall,  and  made  so  many  im- 
provements, that,  at  the  expiration  of  four 
months,  when  Mr.  Raimond  returned  from  his 
travels,  he  did  not  recognize  his  own  place. 

We  will  pass  over  the  next  two  years,  at 
the  end  of  which  time  an  unfortunate  event 
occurred,  which  I will  now  relate. 


CHAPTER  XXVL 


IN  WHICH  SOMETHING  IS  TOLD  ABOUT  FOX* 

One  fine,  but  very  cold  Sunday,  in  the 
month  of  February,  Cecil  followed  by  Fox, 
entered  the  Church  which  he  was  accustomed 
regularly  to  attend.  Could  my  readers  have 
seen  Cecil,  they  would  scarcely  have  recog- 
nized, in  the  handsome  and  healthy  looking 
boy  of  fourteen,  the  pale  and  delicate  child, 
who,  two  years  before,  had  been  abandoned 
under  the  chestnut  tree  in  the  Tuileries. 

When  service  was  over,  Cecil  sat  down 
on  the  church  steps,  and  remained  awhile, 
looking  at  the  train  of  carriages,  with  their 
liveried  footmen,  as  th6y  drove  up  to  the 
door,  and  by  watching  the  richly  dressed 
persons  who  stepped  into  them. 


SOMETHING  IS  TOUD  ABOUT  FOX.  213 


Fox  was  not  content  with  sitting  still  on 
the  steps,  but  ran  up  to  the  carriages  and 
jumped  about  the  legs  of  the  horses  and  foot- 
men. After  receiving  several  slight  kicks,  he 
would  return  quite  crest  fallen  to  his  master. 

“That  serves  you  right,  Fox,”  cried  out 
Cecil,  at  every  kick  given  to  the  dog  ; “ You 
should  not  run  away  from  me.”  But  the  dog 
took  no  heed  either  of  his  master’s  reproofs  or 
of  the  ill  treatment  of  the  footmen  ; and  again 
ran  off  to  satisfy  his  curiosity. 

The  people  bad  nearly  all  left  the  church, 
and  Cecil  contemplated  returning  home,  to 
light  his  little  fire,  and  read  a book  which 
Mr.  Germain  had  lent  him  ; when  he  heard 
some  one  scream,  ^Fox!  Fox!”  Cecil 
started  ! The  cry  had  proceeded  from  an  old 
iady,  seated  in  a carriage,  the  door  of  which 
was  still  open. 

As  Cecil  was  looking  around  him,  to  divine 
what  kind  of  dog  it  was  that  bore  the  same 


214 


CECIL. 


name  as  his  own,  he  saw  Fox,  his  Fox,  make 
one  bound,  and  jump  into  the  carriage,  where 
sat  the  lady.  The  door  was  closed  in  an 
instant,  and  the  carriage  drove  off. 

When  the  first  emotion  of  surprise  was  over, 
Cecil  thought  of  following  the  carriage ; but, 
before  he  had  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do, 
the  carriage  was  out  of  sight. 

Cecil  was  overwhelmed  with  grief.  “I 
have  lost  my  dog/’  exclaimed  he,  so  bitterly 
that  every  body  turned  around,  and  looked 
at  him.  “I  have  lost  my  dog ! Fox!  Fox! 
Come  back  ! Where  are  you  ? ” But  he 
called  in  vain.  Fox  had  perhaps  disappeared 
forever.  How  should  he  ever  find  such  a 
little  dog  in  that  great  city  ! If  he  had  only 
looked  particularly  at  the  lady,  or  the  car- 
riage, or  the  horses,  or  the  footmen  even, 
then  he  might  have  come  and  sat  on  the 
church  steps  every  day,  and  if  either  the  lady 
or  her  footman  appeared,  he  could  request 


SOMETHING  IS  TOLD  ABOUT  FOX.  215 


them  to  return  his  dog.  But  now,  what  was 
he  to  do  ? The  past  seemed  like  a dream ; 
the  present  was  a sad  reality,  for  he  felt  that 
he  was  alone.  Sorrowfully  he  returned  home. 
Whenever  he  met  a little  black  dog  on  his 
way,  he  involuntarily  called  out  “ Fox  ! ” and 
at  every  new  disappointment,  his  grief  was 
redoubled. 

Everything  now  looked  gloomy  in  his 
pretty  little  cottage  without  Fox.  Cecil 
neither  noticed  his  pigeons  nor  his  rabbits. 
All  his  thoughts  were  engrossed  by  Fox. 
He  could  not  eat,  nor  sleep,  nor  take  any 
pleasure  without  him.  “ Oh ! he  was  more 
than  a dog  to  me!”  exclaimed  Cecil;-  “he 
was  my  companion,  my  brother,  my  friend  ! ” 

When  he  knelt  down  to  pray  that  night, 
he  could  only  utter  one  wish:  “Oh!  God, 
give  me  back  my  dog  ! Thou,  who  hast 
always  been  so  good  to  me,  give  me  back 
my  friend — my  companion  ! ” 


216 


CECIL. 


Sleep  visited  not  poor  Cecil’s  eyes  that 
night ; and  when  morning  came,  his  grief 
seemed  to  be  even  greater  than  the  preceding 
evening.  Every  moment  he  missed  his  dog 
more  and  more.  Silently  he  fed  his  rabbits 
and  pigeons,  and  set  out  for  the  printing  office. 
In  passing  before  the  gardener’s  house,  where 
Mary  worked,  instead  of  the  gay  and  happy 
“ good  morning  ” with  which  he  generally 
accosted  her,  he  held  out  his  hand,  and  could 
only  say,  “ I have  lost  my  dog,  Mary  ! ” 

“ What  a misfortune  ! ” replied  the  girl, 
deeply  sympathizing  with  his  grief,  without 
attempting  to  offer  him  any  consolation. 

He  arrived  at  the  printing  office  ; and,  to 
every  body  who  addressed  him,  he  replied 
only  with  the  words,  which  were  uppermost 
in  his  heart  and  on  his  lips  : “ I have  lost  my 
dog!” 

“ My  wife  will  be  inconsolable,”  said  Mr 
Germain  ; “ but  you  must  forget  your  grief  for 


SOMETHING  IS  TOLD  ABOUT  FOX.  217 


a time,  my  child.  Work  should  be  thought 
of  before  everything  else.” 

Poor  Cecil  made  errors  all  the  day,  and 
never  were  his  proof  sheets  so  badly  corrected. 

“ This  child  must  have  another  dog,”  said 
Mr.  Germain  to  the  workmen. 

“ No,  no,”  replied  Cecil ; “ not  another  l I 
only  want  the  one  I have  lost.  I could  nor 
love  another  dog  as  I have  loved  Fox  ! ” 


19 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


THF  BEGGAR  ON  THE  CHAMPS  ELYSEES. 

It  was  seven  o’clock  in  the  evening.  The 
moon  sv  one  brilliantly,  the  ground  was  cov- 
ered with  snow,  and  it  was  very  cold,  when 
Cecil  returned  home.  He  passed  by  the 
coffee-house  in  which  he  had  played  on  the 
violin  for  the  old  man.  He  was  unfortunate 
then,  but  his  dog  was  with  him,  and  he  was 
less  sad  than  now. 

Standing  near  the  coffee-house,  on  the 
Champs  Elysees,  he  saw  an  individual  who 
appeared  familiar  to  him.  It  was  a pale  and 
thin  young  man,  without  a hat,  shivering 
with  the  cold,  wrapped  in  an  old  coat,  which 
showed  his  form  so  plainly  that  one  might 


THE  BEGGAR  ON  THE  CHAMPS  ELYSEES.  219 


well  have  imagined  that  beneath  it  he  wore 
no  other  clothes.  In  this  young  man’s  fea- 
tures, Cecil  traced  a resemblance  to  his  cou- 
sin ! But  what  an  idea ! The  son  of  his 
uncle — the  rich  heir  of  Mr.  Thomas,  the 
owner  of  so  many  houses  and  vineyards  in 
Bordeaux — here — in  Paris — and  in  the  most 
miserable  and  destitute  state,  shivering  in  the 
street ! No,  it  was  impossible ! Notwith- 
standing the  severe  cold,  Cecil  stood  with 
his  eyes  riveted  upon  the  person  who  so  strik- 
ingly resembled  his  cousin. 

At  this  moment  a third  person  crossed  the 
Champs  Elysees,  and  Cecil  saw  the  wretched 
young  man  run  towards  the  stranger  and  hold 
out  his  hand. 

“I  have  nothing  for  you,”  replied  the  per- 
son thus  applied  to,  roughly. 

“I  shall  die  of  hunger!”  said  the  young 
man,  who,  no  doubt,  encouraged  by  the  soli- 
tude which  reigned  all  around,  put  his  hand 


220 


CECIL. 


on  the  man’s  arm,  and  held  him  fast,  as  it 
were,  in  perfect  desperation. 

That  voice  ! It  was  his  cousin’s  voice ! 
Cecil  knew  it  too  well  to  forget  it ; and, 
grasping  the  arm  of  the  unhappy  young  man, 
exclaimed,  “ Augustus!  what  are  you  doing?” 
“ Augustus  ! ” repeated  the  person  address- 
ed, trembling  with  alarm.  “ Who  calls  my 
name  ? Who  knows  me  ? ” 

And,  in  his  surprise,  unconscious  of  what 
he  did,  he  loosened  his  hold  of  the  stranger, 
who,  glad  to  be  released,  hastened  away. 

“ Augustus  ! what  are  you  doing  ? ” again 
asked  Cecil;  but  this  time  in^a  sad  and 
reproachful  tone,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  his 
cousin  with  an  expression  of  mingled  aston- 
ishment and  horror.” 

The  first  feeling  of  alarm  over,  the  man, 
in  his  turn,  looked  at  Cecil ; but  not  recog- 
nising his  voice,  nor  his  healthy  face  and 
robust  form,  he  said,  roughly — 


THE  BEGGAR  ON  THE  CHAMPS  ELYSEES.  221 


“ Who  are  you  ? and  what  do  you  want 
with  me  ? ” 

“ What ! do  you  not  remember  me,  Au- 
gustus ? ” 

“ I never  saw  you  before,”  said  Augustus, 
making  a movement  to  go  away. 

“ I am  Cecil  ! ” 

This  name  appeared  to  wound  the  young 
man  to  the  soul. 

“ Cecil  ! ” repeated  he,  with  terror. 

“ Yes,  the  nephew  of  Mr.  Tliomas  ; Cecil, 
your  cousin,  whom  you  abandoned  in  the 
Tuileries.  But  what  brings  you  to  Paris  ? 
and  what  are  you  doing  here  ? ” asked  Cecil, 
kindly. 

As  Augustus  did  not  reply,  feeling  no  doubt 
too  much  humbled  and  confused,  or  not  having 
an  answer  ready,  Cecil  continued  : 

“ It  is  very  cold  here  ; let  us  go  to  your 
house,  or  mine,  that  we  may  talk  together- 

will  you  ? ” 

19* 


222 


CECIL. 


“ To  my  house  ? I have  no  house  ! ” said 
Augustus,  in  a smothered  voice.  “ Do  you 
think,  if  I had  a home,  that  I should  be  here, 
at  this  hour,  prowling  about  the  streets  of 
Paris?  Do  you  think,  if  I had  eaten  to-day, 
I would  have  begged  ?” 

“ Speak  lower,  Augustus  ! 55  said  Cecil  ; 
but  he  added,  with  kindness,  “ Well,  come 
home  with  me,  cousin.” 

Augustus  followed,  without  making  any 
remark — his  head  bent  down,  and  his  frame 
shivering  with  the  cold. 

Cecil  thought  over  this  strange  meeting 
with  his  cousin — now  a mendicant  on  the 
Champs  Elysees — until  his  little  brain  was 
perplexed  ; but  he  could  not  solve  the  mys- 
tery. As  for  Augustus,  he  was  trying  to 
invent  some  story  which  would  satisfy  his 
cousin’s  curiosity. 

They  at  length  reached  the  little  cottage ; 
andj  when  Cecil  had  lighted  the  candle,  an 


THE  BEGGAR  ON  THE  CHAMPS  ELYSEES.  223 


exclamation  of  surprise  burst  from  Augustus, 
at  sight  of  the  perfect  neatness  and  order 
which  reigned  throughout  the  room. 

“ Where  are  we  ? asked  he. 

“ In  my  house,  cousin/’  said  Cecil,  doing 
the  honors  with  a hospitality  worthy  of  his 
kind  heart.  “ Wait,  and  I will  light  rfiy  fire, 
and  that  will  warm  you.  You  are  hungry, 
are  you  not?  Open  the  cupboard!  What 
will  you  have  ? Here  is  bread,  a pot  of  pre- 
served grapes,  and  a little  wine : but  do  not 
stint  yourself, — eat  all.  I am  not  hungry. 
I am  too  full  of  grief  to  think  of  eating,” 
added  he,  drawing  a deep  sigh. 

“ Whose  place  is  this?”  asked  Augustus, 
eating  with  great  anxiety. 

“ It  is  mine  ; or  pretty  much  the  same  as 
mine,”  answered  Cecil. 

“ What ! ” said  Augustus,  in  astonishment, 
“ this  land  belongs  to  you  ? This  house  and 
furniture  are  yours  ? ” 


224 


CECIL. 


“ No,  this  land  is  not  mine,”  replied  Cecil ; 
“I  am  only  kept  here  to  guard  it.  The  house, 
some  of  my  friends  built  for  me;  still,  it  can 
hardly  be  called  mine  either ; but  the  furni- 
ture and  everything  in  this  room  belong  to 
me.  But,  cousin,  tell  me  something  about 
yourself.  How  happens  it,  that  you,  who 
were  so  rich,  are  in  this  forlorn  condition  ? ” 

“Oh!  it  is  a very  sad  history,”  replied 
Augustus. 

“ It  is  not  late,”  said  Cecil,  “ pray,  relate 
it  to  me.” 

Augustus  having  finished  his  supper,  took 
the  most  comfortable  seat  in  front  of  the  fire, 
and  commenced  his  story. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


WHAT  BRINGS  PROSPERITY  AND  WHAT 
MISFORTUNE. 

[ have  had  misfortunes — this  is  all  my  his- 
tory said  Augustus,  affecting  an  indifferent 
air. 

“ And  I have;  had  prosperity,5’  replied  Ce- 
cil ; . “ but,  as  my  good  fortune  has  all  one 
cause,  your  misfortunes  have  probably  one 
also — is  it  not  so  ? ” 

“ That  is  to  say,  you  have  told  every  body 
that  you  had  been  abandoned,  without  omit- 
ting to  mention,  I will  wager,  by  whom ; 
giving  mv  name,  the  particulars  of  my  birth, 
my  place  of  residence,  and  even  the  street  in 
which  I lived,  and  the  number  of  my  house  ! ” 


226 


CECIL. 


“ How  little  you  know  me,  Augustus,1 ” 
replied  Cecil,  calmly,  “ Have  I not  always 
been  taught,  that  to  publish  the  wickedness 
of  one’s  relations  was  to  dishonor  oneself? 
I have  told  those  who  have  asked  my  history, 
that  I was  abandoned,  but  I never  told  by 
whom.” 

“ What,  Cecil  ! Never  mentioned  my 
name  ? ” 

“ Never,  Augustus.” 

“ And  what  has  been  the  cause  of  all  your 
good  fortune?” 

Cecil  related  to  his  cousin,  in  the  most 
simple  and  natural  manner,  and  without  the 
least  embellishment,  all  that  had  occurred  to 
him  from  the  time  Augustus  had  forsaken  him 
in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries.  u And  now,” 
added  he,  in  conclusion,  “ tell  me  about  your 
misfortunes.” 

“ Alas  ! Cecil,  after  leaving  you  asleep  in 
the  Tuileries,  I started  the  same  day  on  my 


PROSPERITY  AND  MISFORTUNE.  227 


return  to  Bordeaux.  On  my  arrival  there,  I 
began  by  clearing  out  the  house.” 

“ What,  Augustus  ! you  turned  away  John, 
his  family,  Jeannet,  old  Bonise,  and  little 
Lignac — all,  family  servants,  born  and  bred 
in  the  house!”  interrupted  Cecil. 

“ They  did  nothing  but  talk  of  you,”  replied 
Augustus,  sulkily. 

“ Oh  ! I understand,”  said  Cecil;  “ and  it 
was  a reproach  to  yourself.” 

“ Was  I not  master  of  my  own  house,  and 
could  I not  do  what  I chose  ? ” demanded 
Augustus. 

“ Ay,  Augustus,  and  so  was  I master  this 
evening,  and  need  not  have  asked  you  to 
come  home  with  me,”  replied  Cecil  ; “ but 
I would  not  have  acted  thus,  Augustus.” 

Augustus,  without  paying  any  attention  to 
this  remark,  continued  : 

“ Never  ask  a*  man,  Cecil,  how  he  has 
managed  to  spend  the  whole  of  his  fortune 


I 


228  cecil. 

in  six  months  ; it  is  very  easy,  I assure  you. 
Listen,  and  I will  tell  you.  I had  new 
servants,  who  stole  from  me,  and  friends, 
who  borrowed  my  money.  I gave  parties ; 
I kept  carriages  and  horses  ; then,  I got  in 
debt  by  bad  speculation,  and  one  morning  I 

i 

found  myself  dispossessed  of  all  my  bouses 
and  my  vineyards,  with  only  ten  thousand 
francs  in  my  purse.” 

“ I should  like  very  well  to  have  ten  thou- 
sand francs  ; I should  think  myself  rich,” 
replied  Cecil.  “ You  have  ten  thousand 
francs,  Augustus  ? ” 

“ Hear  me  to  the  end.  I knew  that  gam- 
ng  houses  were  abolished  at  Paris  ; but  I 
had  heard  my  father  speak  of  speculations  in 
stocks,  by  which  enormous  sums  were  made. 
I came  to  Paris,  risked  my  ten  thousand 
francs,  and  lost  them.  Since  then  I have  had 
to  sell  my  clothes,  one  by  one,  to  pay  my 
board  and  get  food,  until  yesterday,  not  being 


PROSPERITY  AND  MISFORTUNE.  229 


able  to  pay  for  a small  room  I occupied  in 
Fille-Saint  Thomas  street,  they  turned  me  out 
of  the  house  and  retained  the  rest  of  my  linen. 
When  you  had  met  me,  I had  not  eaten  any 
thing  for  fourteen  hours.” 

“ How  fortunate  that  I met  you  ! ” said 
Cecil. 

“ You  do  not  then  bear  malice  against  me  ?” 
asked  Augustus,  in  surprise. 

“ Why,”  said  Cecil,  “ I felt  angry  with 
you  as  long  as  I thought  you  were  rich  ; now 
that  you  are  unfortunate,  I pity  you,  but 
bear  you  no  malice.  If  you  will  recall  the 
words  of  your  poor  father,  Augustus — that 
he  who  does  evil  receives  evil  in  return,  and 
he  that  does  good  finds  good  in  return— you 
will  see  how  you  have  deserved  your  misfor- 
tunes, and  I my  prosperity.” 

“ How  stupid  you  are!”  exclaimed  Au- 
gustus, shrugging  his  shoulders.  “ If  you 

had  not  met  that  good  man,  Mr.  Raimond, 

20 


230 


CECIL. 


who  made  you  guardian  over  his  land,  and 
those  kind  masons,  who  built  your  house,  tell 
me,  if  you  can,  where  you  would  have  lived 
until  now  ? ” 

Cecil  replied  quickly : “ If  I had  not  as- 
sisted the  old  blind  man  I should  not  have 
met  Mr.  Raimond,  and  the  comrades  of  the 
blind  man’s  son  would  not  have  built  me  this 
room.” 

“ Say,  rather,”  replied  Augustus,  “ that 
without  your  dog  all  this  good  fortune  would 
not  have  befallen  you.” 

“ But  it  was  from  compassion  that  I took 
the  dog,  and  God  had  pity  on  me  because  I 
had  pity  on  the  dog.” 

“ Oh  ! make  it  all  out  to  suit  yourself,” 
said  Augustus,  who,  in  the  spirit  of  all  envious 
persons,  would  not  acknowledge  to  himself  the 
cause  of  his  misery  and  of  his  cousin’s  happi- 
ness. “After  all,”  added  he,  “you  are  not  so 
well  off  as  to  justify  your  talking  so  proudly.” 


PROSPERITY  AND  MISFORTUNE.  231 


“ And  what  more  do  I want  ? ” exclaimed 
Cecil,  with  animation.  “ I have  a house, 
quite  large  enough  for  my  use  ; I have  friends 
— yes,  Augustus,  the  old  blind  man’s  family 
are  excellent  friends  to  me ; the  old  man 
gives  me  good  advice;  his  wife  washes  and 
mends  my  clothes  ; his  daughter,  a kind  and 
grateful  girl,  has  given  me  a pair  of  pigeons 
and  a pair  of  rabbits,  of  .which  I am  very 
fond  ; and  his  son,  a rather  unsteady  young 
man  at  first,  but  now  quite  changed,  often 
comes,  after  he  has  got  through  his  work,  to 
help  me  plough  and  sow  my  ground.  I have 
a situation  by  which  I make  sixty  francs  a 
month,  and  in  the  name  of  goodness  what 
more  do  I want  ? Ah  ! except  my  dog,  to 
be  sure,”  added  he,  with  a sigh.  “ But,  this 
misfortune  apart,  I should  be  very  ungrateful 
to  complain  of  my  destiny,  comparing  my 
situation  now  with  what  it  was  two  years  ago, 
when  I was  a poor  deserted  child,  wandering 


232 


CECIL. 


about  the  streets  of  Paris,  with  only  one  cent 
in  my  pocket.” 

“ Is  there  no  possibility  of  sleeping  here  ? ” 
asked  Augustus,  concealing  by  a yawn  the 
displeasure  he  felt  at  Cecil’s  last  remark. 

“ Oh,  yes,”  replied  Cecil ; “ but  Lean  only 
offer  you  half  a bed,  as  I have  only  one.” 

“ I will  try  and  content  myself  with  that,” 
said  Augustus,  undressing  himself  and  jumping 
into  bed.” 

“ Do  you  not  say  your  prayers  ? ” asked 
Cecil,  kneeling  down. 

“ What’s  the  use?”  said  Augustus,  turning 
over  and  composing  himself  to  sleep. 

“ Oh,  cousin,”  said  Cecil,  sadly,  “ how  do 
you  ever  expect  to  be  happy  ? ” And  finding 
that  his  cousin  did  not  reply,  he  added  : “ I 
am  going  to  pray  for  you,  as  you  grieve  mo 
very  much  ? ” 

“ You  will  do  well,”  replied  Augustus, 
roughly. 


PROSPERITY  AND  MISFORTUNE.  233 

But  just  as  Cecil  was  commencing  to  pray, 
he  thought  he  heard  in  the  stillness  of  the 
night,  the  barking  of  a dog  which  he  well 
knew.  “ Augustus  ! Augustus  ! ” cried  he, 
his  voice  much  changed  by  emotion,  and 
running  to  open  the  door.  “ Can  you  now 
deny  the  justice  and  goodness  of  God  ? Let 
this  convince  you.  See!  see!  He  has  given 
me  back  my  dog — my  own,  own  Fox  ! ” 

A moment  afterwards,  Cecil  clasped  Fox 
to  his  heart ; and  then  weeping  for  joy,  he 
fell  on  his  knees  to  thank  the  Giver  of  all 
Good. 


20* 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


THE  PLACARD. 

“ It  is  strange,  cousin,  that  Fox  don’t  like 
you,”  said  Cecil,  the  next  morning,  perceiving 
that  the  dog  continually  whined  and  looked 
suspiciously  at  Augustus. 

“ Do  you  mean  to  say  that  dogs  love  and 
hate  ? ” asked  Augustus. 

“ Is  it  not  proof  sufficient,  that  this  poor 
dog,  who  was  carried  away  from  me,^  and 
whom  I thought  lost,  has  come  back  to  me, 
of  his  own  accord  ? Have  you  not  been 
witness  of  his  joy  at  seeing  me  ? But  let  us 
think  of  your  affairs  now,  Augustus.” 

“ I thank  you  for  your  hospitality,”  and 
Augustus,  while  dressing  himself,  and  brush- 


THE  PLACARD. 


235 


in ^ his  old  coat,  to  make  it  look  less  soiled 
and  dusty.  “I  am  going  to  see  some  friends. 
Have  you  a cravat  and  a shirt  to  lend  me  ? ” 

“ Yes/’  replied  Cecil,  selecting  his  hand- 
somest cravat  and  best  shirt,  and  presenting 
them  to  him. 

“ And  some  money  with  which  I may  buy 
my  breakfast  ? ” asked  Augustus. 

Cecil  took  a little  leather  purse  out  of  his 
mattress,  and  opening  it,  said  ; “1  have  thirty 
francs.  I will  share  them  with  you,  Augustus. 
Here  are  fifteen.  I am  very  sorry  not  to  be 
able  to  offer  you  more.” 

Augustus,  who  did  not  anticipate  his  cou- 
sin’s generosity,  was  much  surprised,  and 
thanked  him  quite  warmly,  saying:  “ You 

are  a very  good  friend,  Cecil.  But  I will 
return  you  this  money  soon — very  soon,” 
added  he,  taking  the  money  as  though  it 
were  a loan,  by  way  of  easing  his  pride. 
For  those  who  are  incapable  of  doing  a gene- 


236 


CECIL. 


rous  act  themselves,  are  always  unwilling  to 
show  a proper  degree  of  gratitude  for  a favor 
received. 

After  Cecil  had  given  his  pigeons  and  rab- 
bits their  breakfast,  he  invited  his  cousin  to 
accompany  him,  and  they  went  out  together. 

In  approaching  the  Place  De  la  Concorde, 
the  two  cousins  saw  a placard  posted  on  a 
tree  in  the  Champs  EMysees,  before  which 
several  people  stopped  a moment,  and  then 
walked  on.  “ What  is  lost  ? ” asked  the 
cousins,  following  the  example  of  others,  and 
stopping  to  read.  But  instead  of  passing  on, 
as  if  by  one  impulse,  they  stood  transfixed  to 
the  spot.  My  little  readers  will  quickly  see 
the  cause  of  Cecil’s  agitation,  when  they  read 
the  placard,  but  they  will  not  be  able  to  guess 
in  what  manner  it  interested  Augustus. 

Augustus  reacj  the  notice  aloud  : 

“ FIFTY  FRANCS  REWARD  ! 

“ For  the  recovery  of  a little  English 


THE  PLACARD. 


237 


spaniel.  The  dog  is  black,  with  a white 
spot  on  his  breast,  and  on  each  foot.  His 
ears  are  very  long,  almost  sweeping  the 
ground,  and  his  name  is  Fox. 

“ This  dog  had  been  lost  for  two  years,  but 

i 

was  found  on  last  Sunday,  before  the  church  of 
Saint  Roch,  and  made  his  escape  last  evening. 

“ If  any  body  who  sees  the  above  mentioned 
dog,  will  please  bring^him  to  37  Lafitte-street, 
to  Madame  Marboeuf,  he  shall  receive  the 
promised  reward,  and  even  more,  if  required.’5 

“ Madame  Marboeuf,”  said  Augustus, 
thoughtfully  ; “ it  is  singular.” 

“My  poor  dog!”  said  Cecil,  taking  Fox 
tenderly  in  his  arms. 

The  cousins  walked  away  from  the  placard, 
and  separated  from  each  other,  both  of  them 
absorbed  in  thought. 

Cecil  went  to  the  printing  office,  and  im- 
mediately related  all  that  had  occurred  to  Mr. 
Germain,  and  asked  his  advice. 


238 


CECIL. 


“My  advice  is,  my  child/’  replied  Mr. 
Germain,  “ that,  since  you  cannot  keep  that 
dog — seeing  that  it  does  not  belong  to  you — 
my  advice  is,  that  you  immediately  return  it 
to  the  owner.” 

“Never,  never,  of  my  own  accord,”  said 
Cecil,  “could  I part  with  Fox.” 

“ Reflect,  my  child  ! ” said  Mr.  Germain, 
“ that  apart  from  receiving  the  reward,  which 
it  would  be  very  nice  to  have,  and  which  you 
could  double  if  you  chose,  you  will  be  accused 
of  stealing  the  do£.” 

“ Stealing  ! ” exclaimed  Cecil. 

“But,  my  child,”  said  Mr.  Germain,  “there 
is  not  much  difference  between  stealing  and 
keeping  what  belongs  to  another.” 

“ Then  I will  no  longer  hesitate,”  said 
Cecil,  taking  Fox  in  his  arms  and  weeping 
over  him.  Then  stopping  at  the  door  of  the 
printing  office,  and  turning  to  his  comrades, 
#ho  looked  sorrowfully  after  him,  he  said  : 


THE  PLACARD. 


239 


“ Do  you  think  I might  ask  the  lady  to  let 
me  buy  her  dog  ? ” 

“ You  have  a perfect  right  to  ask,”  replied 
one  of  the  compositors. 

“ And  she  has  a perfect  right  to  refuse 
you/’  said  Mr.  Germain. 

With  a sad  heart  Cecil  went  on  his  way, 
carrying  the  poor  animal,  who  looked  up  to 
his  master  as  if  he  anticipated  his  fate,  and 
supplicated  him  not  to  part  with  hirft. 

i 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


A DISAPPOINTMENT. 

c<  Give  me  courage!”  prayed  poor  Cecil, 
looking  at  the  dog,  who  seemed  dearer  to 
him  than  ever  before. 

He  arrived  at  the  house  designated  in  the 
placard.  As  he  ascended  the  steps  he  met 
his  cousin,  and  hastened  to  join  him. 

“ What  do  you  come  here  for?  ” asked  Cecil. 
u And  for  what  do  you  come?”  returned 
Augustus. 

“I!”  said  Cecil,  and  he  looked  sorrowfully 
at  the  little  dog  in  his  arms. 

“ Ah  ! you  come  for  the  promised  reward,” 
said  Augustus. 

jUftjlt  would  be  difficult  to  express  Cecil’s  in- 


A DISAPPOINTMENT. 


241 


dignatior  at  this  remark.  Without  saying  a 
word*  foi  he  felt  if  his  cousin  could  thus 
judge  him  he  was  not  capable  of  either  con- 
ceiving or  appreciating  his  conduct,  he  knocked 
at  the  door. 

“ Cecil, ” cried  Augustus,  “ do  not  speak  of 
me  to  that  lady — do  you  understand  ? ” 

“ Whatt  an  idea  ! ” exclaimed  Cecil ; and 
he  asked  the  door-keeper  for  Mrs.  Marboeuf. 

“ Go  to  the  first  door  on  the  left,”  said 
the  door-keeper.  “ Oh  ! you  bring  back  her 
dog  ! Are  you  not  glad  to  have  found  it  ? 
You  will  get  the  reward  ! I never  meet  with 
such  good  luck  ! ” 

Cecil  bowed  to  all  the  woman’s  remarks 
without  replying.  He  went  to  the  next  door, 
as  she  directed,  and  ran«.  A liveried  foot- 

' o 

man  opened  the  door,  and,  on  seeing  the  dog, 
exclaimed,  like  the  door-keeper: 

C£  Oh ! you  have  brought  Madame  Mar- 

boeuPs  dog.  She  will  be  delighted  i ” 

21 


242 


CECIL. 


And  leading  Cecil  through  a suite  of  rooms, 
the  magnificence  of  which  quite  escaped  his 
attention,  the  servant  ushered  him  into  a little 
boudoir,  where  an  old  lady  was  seated  in  a 
large  arm  chair  before  a ’cheerful  fire,  embroi- 
dering with  worsteds. 

The  footman  said,  as  he  opened  the  door : 
“ Madame,  here  is  Fox  ! ” 

“ Fox  ! Fox  ! ” exclaimed  the  lady,  throwing 
down  her  work  and  extending  her  arms  towards 
the  dog.  “ Fox,  do  you  not  remember  your 
mistress?  You  ungrateful  little  wretch  ! ” 

But  Fox  and  his  master  both  remained 
standing  in  the  doorway. 

“Fox,”  said  Madame  Marboeuf  tenderly, 
“ what  is  the  matter  with  you,  that  you  do 
not  know  me?  Here  is  one  of  the  little  cakes 
that  you  used  to  like  so  much.” 

Fox  wagged  his  tail  in  token  of  his  thanks, 
but  did  not  advance  a step  towards  his  old 


A DISAPPOINTMENT. 


243 


During  the  few  minutes  that  Madame  Mar- 
boeuf  coaxed  Fox,  Cecil  surveyed  the  lady 
She  was  about  sixty  years  of  age.  Hei 
countenance  was  full,  unfurrowed  by  disease 
or  care,  and  bore  traces  of  great  beauty. 
Its  expression  was  neither  stern,  nor  mild,  but 
it  was  cold. 

Cecil  ventured  to  say  : 

“You  see,  Madame,  the  dog  grieves  at  oui 
separation  as  much  as  I do  ! ” 

For  the  first  time,  Madame  Marboeuf  looked 
towards  the  child,  who  came  to  restore  her 
dog. 

“I  thank  you,”  said  she.  “Leave  the 
dog.”  Then  turning  to  the  servant,  she 
added  : “ Peter,  give  fifty  francs  to  this  child. 
Go  with  him,  my  little  friend.” 

Seeing  that  Cecil  did  not  appear  inclined 
to  obey,  she  added,  in  the  same  calm  tone  : 
“ Is  the  reward  not  sufficient,  and  do  you 
wish  it  increased  ? ” Ifli 


244 


CECIL. 


“I  wish  to  speak  to  you,  Madame,”  said 
Cecil,  endeavoring  to  repress  his  tears. 

“ What  hinders  you  ? Speak  on,”  said  the 
lady. 

“ Madame,”  said  Cecil,  timidly,  “ let  me 
keep  Fox.  Fox  is  my  friend,  my  brother  ! 
Fox  is  every  thing  to  me,  Madame.  I am  a 
poor,  forsaken  child.  I have  no  family.  If 
you  knew,  Madame — Oh  ! I entreat  you  to 
let  me  keep  Fox  ! ” 

“ Well,  this  is  a strange  child  !”  said  Ma- 
dame Marboeuf,  perfectly  unmoved.  Then 
she  added,  smiling  kindly  : “ I am  very  sorry 
for  you,  child  ; but  this  dog  is  mine,  and  I 
choose  to  keep  him.  Go  with  Peter ; ask 
as  much  as  you  choose,  and  he  will  pay  you 
anything  in  reason.” 

“ But  I only  want  Fox,  Madame  ; I do 
not  care  for  anything  but  Fox!”  said  Cecil, 
no  longer  able  to  restrain  his  grief.  “ Oh  ! 
do  not  refuse  him  to  me.  You  are  rich,  you 


A DISAPPOINTMENT. 


245 


have  a house,  servants,  and  children,  perhaps 
— you  have  everything  you  want — and  I have 
only  Fox  ! See,  madame,  how  the  poor 
animal  looks  at  me  ! If  he  could  speak, 
I ana  sure,  he  would  beg  you  not  to  separ- 
ate us.  Oh ! Madame,  have  pity  on  us 
both  ! ” 

Without  appearing  in  the  least  degree 
affected  by  this  touching  appeal,  Madame 
Marboeuf  coldly  turned  to  her  servant  and 
said  : “ Peter,  take  this  child  away,  and  give 
him  a hundred  francs.  Go,  my  friend ; a 
hundred  francs  will  be  of  much  more  use  to 
you  than  a dog.” 

“ You,  Madame,  perhaps  might  think  so,” 
said  Cecil,  who  had  become  bold  through 
vexation,  “ but  I might  not  agree  with  you. 
Since  you  think  that  money  can  replace  a 
friend,  sell  me  your  dog— sell  him  to  me — 
how  much  do  you  wish  for  him  ? If  I have 

not  the  sum  required  I can  work,  Madame. 

21* 


‘246 


CtiCIL. 


I will  earn  it  and  bring  it  to  you.  For  how 
much  will  you  sell  him,  Madame  ? ” 

“Was  there  ever  such  a queer  child!” 
exclaimed  the  lady.  “ Peter,  take  this  boy 
away,  and  give  him  a hundred  francs  as  I 
told  you.” 

Cecil  attempted  to  reply,  but  Madame 
Marboeuf  prevented  him.  “ Silence  ! Not  a 
word  more — you  have  said  enough — ” said 
she,  so  positively,  that  he  did  not  venture  to 
open  his  lips,  but  followed  Peter,  without 
even  looking  back  at  the  poor  dog,  which  his 
mistress  held  on  her  lap,  and  who  whined 
piteously  when  the  door  closed  on  his  young 
benefactor. 

As  Cecil  was  disconsolately  leaving  the 
house,  without  asking  for  the  reward,  the 
servant  called  out  to  him:  “Well!  are  you 
going  without  the  hundred  francs?  Wait  till 
I count  them  out  to  you.” 

“ Thank  you  ; I do  not  wish  them,”  said 


A DISAPPOINTMENT 


247 


Cecil,  weeping.  “ Your  mistress  is  a bad 
woman,  and  I do  not  wish  to  receive  anything 
from  her.” 

“ My  mistress  is  not  bad,”  replied  Peter. 

“ She  is  good  then  ? I suppose,”  returned 
Cecil. 

“ She  is  not  exactly  good,  either,”  said  the 
servant. 

“ And  what,  then,  is  she?”  asked  Cecil. 

“ Why,  she  is  fortunate , my  little  friend. 
She  has  never  suffered — never  had  any  sor- 
rows— and  she  cannot  understand  how  others 
can  be  unhappy.  She  is  a woman,  who, 
when  she  sees  others  suffer,  does  not  suppose 
they  are  feigning — but  she  does  not  soothe 
them  through  a natural  impulse.  Thus  it  is 
not  sufficient  for  a poor  person  to  tell  her  he 
is  hungry ; she  would  only  reply  that  she 
was  very  sorry.  But  if  he  should  ask  her  to 
give  him  something  to  eat,  she  would  comply 
with  his  request.  For  the  same  reason  a 


248 


CECIL, 


person  must  not  tell  her  he  is  cold  ; he  must 
ask  her  to  give  him  something  to  clothe  him 
self  with.  So  you  see,  my  little  friend,  she 
cannot  be  called  bad.” 

“ Neither  can  she  be  called  good,”  replied 
Cecil,  leaving  the  house. 

•“  Here  is  your  money,”  the  servant  called 
out  after  him. 

“ I have  not  earned  it — or  I have  not  well 
earned  it — ” replied  Cecil,  looking  back  ; 
“for  before  evening  your  Mistress’s  dog  will 
return  in  my  house.” 

Saying  these  words,  he  bowed  politely  to  the 
servant,  and  walked  on.  He  did  not  return  to 
the  printing  office,  but,  after  walking  a block, 
seated  himself  on  a step  and  began  to  whistle. 

“Are  you  not  going  to  your  printing  office 
to-day  ? ” asked  Augustus,  whom  Cecil  had 
not  observed  in  turning  down  the  street. 

“ No — I intend  passing  the  day  here,” 
replied  Cecil. 


A DISAPPOINTMENT. 


249 


“ The  fool ! ” muttered  Augustus  between 
his  teeth,  and  hastily  walking  away. 

Cecil  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his  own 
thoughts  to  notice  words,  and  sat  still  whis- 
tling. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


THE  PRINTERS  AND  THE  HUNDRED  FRANCS. 

Fox,  who  had  escaped  from  his  former  mis- 
tress out  of  love  for  his  young  master,  when 
he  heard  Cecil  whistle,  surmounted  every 
obstacle  to  obey  the  summons.  Cecil  had 
calculated  upon  this,  and  he  was  more  pleased 
than  surprised  when,  after  half  an  hour,  Fox, 
overjoyed  and  out  of  breath,  leaped  upon  him. 

Cecil  returned  to  the  printing  office;  and 
when  the  old  proof  reader  beheld  him  enter, 
accompanied  by  his  dog,  he  shook  his  head 
and  said  severely:  “then  you  had  not  suffi- 
cient resolution  to  give  back  the  dog?  that 
was  not  right,  young  man ; you  have  not 
behaved  well.” 


THE  PRINTERS  AND  THE  FRANCS.  251 


Cecil,  to  exculpate  himself,  simply  related 
what  had  taken  place  within  the  last  hour. 
Instantly,  all  the  printers,  compositors,  and  men 
employed  in  the  office,  gathered  around  him. 

I would  have  kept  the  dog,”  said  one. 

“ I would  have  taken  the  hundred  francs,” 
said  another. 

“ I would  have  spoken  my  mind  to  the  old 
lady,”  said  a third. 

“ Ah  ! ” replied  Cecil,  C(  it  is  not  such  an 
easy  matter  to  talk  to  an  old  lady,  who  looks 
very  proud,  and  speaks  in  a peremptory  tone 
that  seems  to  forbid  an  answer.  For  my  part, 
I could  not  keep  from  crying,  and  entreated 
her  to  permit  me  to  retain  the  dog.” 

“ That  was  well  done,  and  what  did  she 
say?” 

“ She  offered  me  more  money,  and  seemed 
to  think  that  that  should  compensate  me  for 
the  loss  of  my  little  dog — my  dear  Fox — my 
best  friend  ! ” 


252 


CECIL. 


“ And  why  had  you  not  the,  wit  to  offer 
her  the  hundred  francs  if  she  would  only  let 
you  keep  the  dog  ? ” asked  the  proof  reader. 

“ That  is  exactly  what  I did,  and  she 
laughed  in  my  face.” 

“ That  was  because  she  supposed  you 
had  not  a hundred  francs  to  give,”  said  a 
compositor  named  Andrew ; “ now,  if  you 

had  only  showed  them  to  her” — 

“ I could  not  show  her  what  is  not  mine  to 
show,”  answered  Cecil.  “ But  I told  her  I 
would  earn  them,  and  that  I would  pay  her 
whatever  sum  she  chose  to  ask.” 

“ That  would  not  do  ? That  would  never 
do ! ” exclaimed  several  of  the  printers  at 
once.  “ A person  can  resist  a promise,  but 
if  he  only  sees  the  money  glittering  before 
him,  the  temptation  is  too  great.” 

“ But  I have  not  a hundred  francs.  I have 
only  fifteen,”  replied  Cecil,  despondingly. 

“ And  would  you  willingly  give  the  money 


THE  PRINTERS  AND  THE  FRANCS.  2^3 


for  the  sake  of  recovering  your  dog  ? ” ques- 
tioned Gaspard. 

“ That  I would  ! I will  give  the  fifteen 
francs  that  I shall  receive  next  week,  and 
the  week  after,  and  the  week  after  that,  and 
after  that,  until  the  hundred  is  made  up.  Oh  ! 
that  I would,  right  gladly,  to  feel  that  Fox 
was  mine  ! ” 

“ Very  well ! I will  arrange  everything 
for  you,”  said  Gaspard,  jumping  upon  Mr. 
Germain’s  tall  stool,  that  he  might  command 
the  attention  of  the  workmen,  and  then  ad- 
dressing them  thus:  “Comrades!  our  friend 
here — and  he  is  our  friend — our  true  friend — 
is  threatened  with  what  to  him  would  be  a 
misfortune — the  loss  of  his  dog,  the  greatest 
treasure  he  has  in  the  world — the  chief  source 
of  his  happiness.  Comrades,  one  hundred 
francs  would  save  him  from  this  misfortune 
Can  not  we  among  us  make  up  that  sum, 

and  present  it  to  him?  We  are  most  of  us 

22 


254 


CECII,. 


indebted  to  him  for  many  kindnesses,  which 
we  may  now  return.  For  my  part,  I cannot 
bear  to  lose  the  little  dog.  I have  become 
accustomed  to  him,  and  his  tricks  amuse  me. 
Gentleman,  I will  set  you  the  example  !” 

With  these  last  words,  Gaspard  placed  his 
hat  upon  the  ground,  and  threw  into  it  a piece 
of  money. 

“I  follow  your  lead,”  said  Mr.  Germain 
dropping  a five  franc  piece  into  the  hat. 
“For  I cannot  do  without  Fox,  nor  can  my 
wife,  either.” 

“ Nor  I,”  said  the  printers,  one  after  another, 
fumbling  in  their  pockets,  and  dropping  a coin 
into  Gaspard’s  hat. 

“ Oh  ! my  poor  Fox!  How  much  every- 
body loves  you  ! ” said  Cecil,  in  a voice  trem- 
ulous with  emotion.  “ How  good  you  are, 
my  friends  ! How  shall  I ever  thank  you  ? ” 

“ And  are  not  you  better  that  any  of  us, 
although  you  are  so  much  younger  ? ” asked 


THE  PRINTERS  AND  THE  FRANCS.  255 


one  of  the  printers.  “ Did  you  not  give  me 
thirty  sous  one  day,  when  I wanted  to  pay  for 
my  new  coat,  and  fell  short  of  the  money  ? ” 
uAnd  when  I was  sick,  last  month,”  said 
another,  “ did  you  not  bring  me  some  sugar 
and  wine,  and  several  other  things,  which  I 
could  not  procure  for  myself,  because  I had 
spent  every  cent  of  my  wages  ? ” 

“ And  do  you  not  come  and  read  from 
Robinson  Crusoe,  every  evening,  to  amuse  my 
children  ? ” said  a third.  “ And  are  you  not 
always  doing  something  to  assist  us  ? ” 

Cecil  was  too  much  overcome  by  the  kind- 
ness of  his  friends  to  answer. 

Gaspard  counted  the  money,  and  finding 
that  it  amounted  to  exactly  one  hundred 
francs,  he  wrapped  it  in  a piece  of  paper, 
and  taking  down  his  coat,  asked  Cecil  Ma- 
dame MarboeuPs  address;  and  saying  that  he 
intended  making  the  proposition  to  the  lady 
himself,  quitted  the  office. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


A NEW  PROJECT. 

During  Gaspard’s  absence,  everybody  in 
the  printing  office  seemed  unusually  silent. 
Even  Fox  ceased  to  play,  and  Cecil,  though 
he  tried  to  attend  to  his  ordinary  duties, 
looked  abstracted,  and  his  eyes  glanced  over 
the  pages  without  his  comprehending  a line. 
In  about  an  hour,  Gaspard  re-entered  the 
office.  He  flung  his  hat  upon  the  table, 
silently  pulled  off  his  coat,  and  hung  it  up, 
and  placing  the  money  on  the  counter,  threw 
himself  into  a chair,  in  evident  ill-humor. 
Every  body  was  anxious  to  interrogate  him  ; 
and  yet  they  all  remained  silent.  The  intelli- 
gence of  his  ill  success  had  been  communicated 

O 

without  words. 


A NEW  PROJECT. 


257 


“ Her  heart  is  made  of  stone  ! ” suddenly 
exclaimed  Gaspard.  “ Cecil  was  right.  She 
laughed  in  my  face.” 

“ 1 am  quite  as  much  obliged  to  you,”  said 
Cecil,  pressing  Gaspard’s  hand,  “ as  if  you 
had  succeeded  in  your  errand.  But  I have 
a new  idea,  and  you  must  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  it.” 

“ I suppose  we  are  not  to  have  any  work 
to-day  ? ” said  the  principal  proof-reader,  in- 
terrupting Cecil. 

“ Do  not  say  that,”  answered  Gaspard, 
“ In  one  quarter  of  an  hour,  we  will  all  be  at 
our  posts  again.  Come,  Cecil,  what  is  your 
new  project  ? ” 

“ It  is  thfe,”  replied  Cecil.  “ It  appears 
that  Madame  Marboeuf  thinks  more  of  dogs 
than  of  human  beings,  for  our  tears  could 
not  move  her  as  much  as  the  caresses  of  her 
dog — suppose  we  let  Fox  plead  for  himself?” 

u I only  see  one  objection  to  that,”  said 
22* 


258 


CECIL. 


Gaspard ; “ it  is,  that  Fox  has  never  yet 

learned  to  speak.” 

“ But  Fox  might  send  her  a letter — that 


Gaspard  interrupted  Cecil  with,  “Ah!  Fox 
is  a scholar,  then — one  of  the  learned  quad- 
rupeds— -he  understands  penmanship  ? ” 

Cecil  could  not  help  smiling  at  this  ob- 
servation, but  replied  without  being  at  all 
discouraged:  “All  great  personages  have 

secretaries,  you  know  ; and  Fox  is  a great 
personage,  since  we  have  had  so  much  trouble 
about  him.  Why  can  I not  be  his  secretary?” 
“ And  I will  be  his  letter-bearer,”  said 
Adrien. 

“ That  would  never  do,”  observed  Mr. 
Germain.  “ The  lady  would  order  one  of 
her  domestics  to  follow  you,  and  the  abode  of 
Fox  would  instantly  be  discovered.  We  will 
send  the  letter  through  the  post-office.” 

“ Right,  right  ! ” cried  all  the  printers. 


A NEW  PROJECT. 


259 


Fox  was  not  even  consulted.  Cecil  placed 
himself  at  a desk,  and  after  writing  several 
commencements  of  his  letter,  and  tearing 
them  up,  he  completed  the  following  epistle  : 

“ My  dear  and  honored  Mistress  : 

“Two  years  ago  I was  lost  in  the  Tuileries. 
I was  driven  about  from  corner  to  corner,  and 
at  last  a sentinel  pierced  me  several  times 
with  his  bayonet.  I was  severely  hurt,  and 
should  have  died  of  my  wounds,  or  of  hunger 
— for  everybody  refused  to  protect  me — until 
a child — a young  boy,  who,  like  myself,  was 
friendless  and  forsaken,  and,  like  me,  almost 
dying  of  hunger — took  pity  on  me.  He 
washed  my  wounds  at  the  fountain  in  the 
Tuileries,  and  tore  his  only  handkerchief  in 
two  to  bind  them  up.  He  had  only  one  cent 
in  the  world ; with  which  he  bought  some 
bread.  A kind  girl  gave  him  a slice,  which 
cost  two  cents,  and  he  divided  it  with  me. 


260 


CECIL. 


You  see,  Madame,  these  are  things  which 
cannot  be  forgotten.  I am  only  a dog,  but  I 
have  a heart,  and  I have  not  forgotten  them. 

“ Since  the  time  I have  just  spoken  of,  the 
child  and  I have  always  remained  together. 
He  would  have  refused  any  employment, 
which  forced  him  to  part  with  me  ; I would 
not  have  sought  shelter  in  a house  where  my 
benefacter  was  not  welcome. 

“ You,  Madame,  I shall  always  see  with 
pleasure.  If  you  would  permit  it  I would 
come  and  visit  you  sometimes — on  Sundays, 
for  instance — but  do  not  hope  that  I will  ever 
forsake  my  master.  I assure  you  I will  never 
willingly  do  so.  You  have  the  right  to  take 
me  by  force,  but  I do  not  think  that  you  can 
make  me  remain.  Were  you  to  tie  me,  I 
would  break  my  chain.  Were  you  to  shut 
me  up,  I should  jump  out  of  the  window,  or 
whine  so  dolefully,  that  you  could  not  bear  to 
hear  me.  And  if  I could  not  escape,  I should 


V 


A NEW  PROJECT. 


261 


pine  away  with  grief,  and  finally  die.  You 
would  then  have  gained  nothing  yourself,  and 
you  would  have  deprived  an  unhappy  child  of 
his  best  and  dearest  friend  and  companion. 

“ You  will  say,  that  I am  an  ungrat^ul 
little  brute.  But  I do  not  think  I am  so. 
Do  I owe  you  more  than  I owe  Cecil  ? You 
are  rich,  and  you  bought  me,  perhaps,  at  a 
very  extravagant  price.  Cecil  did  not  buy 
me,  but  he  saved  my  life. 

“My  master  begs  that  I will  offer  you  the 
hundred  francs,  at  which  you  valued  me,  and 
I promise  you,  on  the  word  of  a spaniel,  to 
pay  you  my  respects  every  Sunday  after 
church,  and  to  make  myself  as  agreeable  and 
interesting  as  possible. 

“ I hope,  Madame,  that  you  will  honor 
me  with  an  answer,  addressed  to  4 Fox,  the 
spaniel  ; Paris.’ 

“Accept  my  assurances  of  profound  respect, 
and  sincere  attachment. 


262 


CECIL. 


u As  I am  not  very  skilful  in  signing  my 
name,  you  will  find  my  mark  at  the  bottom 
of  this  sheet.” 

^ecil  called  Fox,  and  lightly  rubbing  one 
of  his  front  paws  in  the  printing  ink,  laid 
the  paw  upon  that  part  of  the  letter,  to  which 
the  name  of  the  writer  should  have  been 
affixed.  Fox  remained  perfectly  quiet,  and, 
when  Cecil  removed  his  paw,  it  had  left  a 
perfect  impression  of  its  size  and  form. 

Cecil  then  read  the  letter  to  the  printers, 
and  it  met  their  hearty  approval.  The  letter 
was  then  folded,  sealed,  and  addressed  ; and 
Adrien  carried  it  to  the  post-office. 


V 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  POST-OFFICE. 

One  morning,  the  head  clerk  of  the  post- 
office,  who  was  sorting  the  letters,  stopped  at 
one,  the  address  of  which  he  read  several 
times.  First  he  read  it  without  spectacles, 
then  with  his  spectacles — then  he  removed 
the  spectacles  from  his  eyes,  rubbed  the 
glasses,  put  them  on  again,  and  once  more 
read  the  address  of  the  letter.  “ To  Fox, 
the  spaniel  ; Paris/’  said  he,  aloud.  “ What 
can  that  mean  ? A letter  to  a dog  ? I have 
been  clerk  of  the  post-office  thirty  years,  and 
I never  heard  of  such  a thing/’ 

At  that  moment  a scratching  upon  the 
door  made  him  turn  his  head.  He  opened 


264 


CECIL. 


the  door,  and  a little  black  dog,  with  a folded 
piece  of  paper  in  his  mouth,  sprang  into  the 
room. 

The  clerk  took  the  paper,  and  opening  it, 
found  that  it  contained  three  cents.  On  ex- 
amining the  paper  more  particularly,  he  found 
these  words  traced  upon  it:  “If  there  is  a 
letter  at  the  post-office,  addressed  to  6 Fox, 
the  spaniel/  the  clerk  will  have  the  goodness 
to  take  the  money  for  the  postage,  and  give 
the  letter  to  the  bearer.” 

The  man  rubbed  his  eyes,  as  though  he 
thought  he  was  dreaming,  and  glancing  from 
the  paper  to  the  letter  and  then  at  the  dog, 
who  stood  as  though  waiting  for  an  answer, 
he  held  the  letter  towards  him.  Fox  seized 
the  letter,  and  made  his  escape.  A moment 
afterwards  a footman,  in  green  livery,  entered 
the  office,  and  said  : “ You  have  received  a 
letter  addressed  to  Fox,  the  spaniel — has 
anybody  called  for  it  ? ” 


THE  POST-OFFICE. 


265 


“ Yes,  this  very  minute  ? The  person,  to 
whom  it  was  addressed,  has  just  carried  it 
away  with  him.  You  must  have  met  him  on 
the  steps.” 

“ Was  it  a little  boy  ! ” asked  the  servant. 

“ Not  at  all  ! It  was  the  spaniel  himself — 
a little  black  dog.  I dare  say  he  is  not  yet 
out  of  sight.” 

The  servant  opened  the  door,  and  saw  at 
some  distance  a little  boy,  who  held  an  open 
letter  in  his  hand  ; while  a small  black  dog 
was  gambolling  beside  him.  Before  the  ser- 
vant could  follow  them,  they  had  turned  the 
corner  and  were  out  of  sight. 


23 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


THE  ANSWER  TO  FOx’s  LETTER. 

The  letter  which  Cecil  held  in  his  hand  ran 
as  follows : 

“ My  dear  Fox  : 

I have  neither  the  time  nor  the  talent 
which  your  secretary  possesses,  therefore  1 
cannot  write  what  I wish  to  say  to  you. 
Have  the  goodness  to  come  and  see  me  as 
soon  as  you  receive  this  letter. 

Your  former  Mistress, 
Antoinette  Marbceuf. 

Cecil  read  the  letter  to  his  friends  at  the 
printing  office,  and  then  consulted  with  them 
concerning  the  course  which  he  should  pursue* 


THE  ANSWER  TO  FOx’s  LETTER.  261 


“ I should  go,”  said  one. 

“ I should  not  go,”  cried  another. 

“ Nor  I ! ” said  a third. 

“ I do  not  agree  with  you,”  said  Cecil ; — 
“ this  lady  has  a right  to  the  dog.  I think  I 
ought  to  hear  what  she  has  to  say.  I will 
go  and  ask  Mr.  Germain  to  permit  me  to 
leave  the  office  for  an  hour.” 

Cecil  approached  Mr.  Germain  and  made 
his  request.  “ It  seems  to  me,  master  Cecil,” 
replied  the  proof-reader  angrily,  “ that  nothing 
in  this  office  is  thought  of  but  Fox . Fox  has 
set  everybody  crazy.  Nobody  attends  to  his 
work  to-day,  and  the  cause  is,  that  you  all 
are  thinking  of  Fox.  I want  you  to  read 
these  proofs ; and  you  tell  me  you  must  go 
and  see  the  former  mistress  of  Fox  ! ” 

“I  will  not  be  absent  long,  Mr.  Germain,” 
said  Cecil,  half  timidly  and  half  coaxingly. 

The  old  proof-reader  looked  at  him,  and 
could  not  help  smiling.  “ Then  be  off  with 


268 


CECIL. 


you,”  said  he,  “ you  cajoling  little  rogue 
there  is  no  use  of  ever  saying  no  to  you.” 

Cecil  ran  off,  almost  without  thanking  Mr. 
Germain.  Fox  as  usual  accompanied  him. 
He  was  soon  in  Lafitte  street,  in  front  of 
Madame  MarboeuPs  house.  He  was  going 
to  ring,  when  he  observed  that  the  door  was 
open.  He  paused  a moment  without  enter- 
ing, and  heard  voices  apparently  engaged  in 
an  angry  discussion. 

“ I tell  you,  leave  my  house  and  never 
enter  it  again  ; ” said  one  voice,  which  Cecil 
recognized  as  that  of  Madame  Marboeuf. 

“ But  if  I find  him,  if  I bring  him  to  you  ? ” 
said  the  other  voice,  which  Cecil  thought 
sounded  like  that  of  his  cousin. 

“ 1^  will  receive  him,”  replied  Madame 
Marboeuf;  “ but  as  for  you,  I never  wish  to 

see  you  again.  Leave  me,  Sir” 

“ But,  Madame,  think,”  pleaded  Augustus, 
in  a supplicating  tone. 


THE  ANSWER  TO  FOX  S LETTER.  269 


Madame  Marboeufinterrupted  him.  “ Leave 
me.  Sir!  I have  nothing  further  to  say  to  you.” 
At  that  moment,  Cecil  heard  steps  rapidly 
approaching,  and,  before  he  could  retire,  his 
cousin  stood  before  him.  Augustus  stopped 
when  he  saw  Cecil,  and  demanded  in  a low 
and  trembling  voice,  “ What  do  you  want 
here  ? ” 

“ I want  to  see  Madame  Marboeuf,”  replied 
Cecil,  calmly. 

Augustus  convulsively  caught  hold  of  Ce- 
cil’s arm,  and  forcibly  drawing  him  away, 
said,  “ Come  with  me — come  with  me — she 
is  a good-for-nothing  woman,  a monster  ! ” 

In  his  agitation,  he  knocked  against  a tall 
fat  gentleman,  who  was  ascending  the  steps. 
Cecil  looked  up,  and  exclaimed:  “Ah!  Mr. 
Raimond — kind  Mr.  Raimond  ! Is  it  you  ? ” 

“ What  ! Cecil  ! My  little  Robinson  Cru- 
soe, is  it  you  ? whom  have  you  with  you  ?” 

“ My  cousin,”  replied  Cecil. 

23* 


270 


CECIL. 


“ And  what  are  you  doing  here?”  asked 
Mr.  Raimond,  addressing  Augustus. 

“ Let  us  go,  let  us  go,”  said  Augustus, 
leading  Cecil  away,  without  replying  to  Mr. 
Raimond.  Augustus  appeared  pale,  ill,  and 
agitated  ; and  Cecil,  who  attributed  his 
cousin’s  haste  to  indisposition,  had  not  the 
heart  to  oppose  his  wishes. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


THE  SUMMONS. 

When  Cecil  entered  the  printing  office  again 
with  his  dog,  the  printers  all  asked  him  the 
news,  and  the  child  related  all  that  had  passed, 
and  what  he  had  heard  while  standing  at  the 
door  of  Madame  Marbceuf’s  house. 

“ You  have  a cousin,  then,  Cecil  ; you  said 
you  had  no  family  ! ” said  Mr.  Germain. 

“ I only  found  him  yesterday  evening,” 
replied  Cecil  ; “ but  I did  not  speak  to  you 
of  him,  because  I do  not  like  to  talk  of  my 
cousin.” 

“ He  is  not  amiable,  then,  my  little  fellow  t” 

“ You  know',  Mr.  Germain,  a tree  bears 
both  good  and  bad  fruits — but  I have  not  said 


272 


CECIL. 


anything  to  make  you  suppose  that  my  cousin 
bears  any  bad  fruit. ” 

Mr.  Germain  smiled.  “ No,  nor  any 
good  either,  have  you  ? Come  ! let  us  have 
no  mystery  ; I thought  that  your  cousin  was 
rich,  and  that  he  did  not  notice  you,  because 
you  were  poor.” 

“ My  cousin  is  poorer  than  I am,”  replied 
Cecil. 

“ I should  like  to  know,”  said  one  of  the 
printers,  “ why  Madame  Marboeuf  is  a mon- 
ster ? ” 

“ Gentlemen,  we  have  had  enough  ol 
Madame  Marboeuf.  Let  us  now  go  to  work,” 
said  Mr.  Germain,  striking  his  fist  authorita- 
tively on  the  table.  “ Cecil,  I have  some 
errands  for  you  ; take  these  proof-sheets  to 
the  different  persons,  whose  names  you  will 
find  on  this  list.  By  the  by,  Cecil,  we  will 
not  have  any  dinner  cooked  at  our  house  to- 
day, as  my  wife  and  I are  going  to  dine  with 


THE  SUMMONS 


273 


tier  mother.  You  can  dine  where  you  choose 
— do  you  understand  ? ” 

6i  1 will  dine  at  home,  then/’  replied  Cecil  ; 
u and  I shall  not  return  to  the  printing  office 
again  to-day,  as  my  cousin  has  put  my  room 
in  such  disorder,  that  I should  be  glad  to  have 
a little  time  to  arrange  it  before  night.” 

“ Look  here,  Cecil,”  said  one  of  the  prin- 
ters, handing  him  some  proof-sheets,  “ I am 
very  curious  to  see  your  little  house,  of 
which  I have  heard  our  master  speak  so 
often.  Shall  I bring  my  dinner  there?” 

“ It  would  give  me  much  pleasure  if  you 
did,”  replied  Cecil. 

“ Well  ; we  two  will  dine  together.” 

“ Oh  ! I did  not  say  only  we  two  ; you  are 
not  afraid  of  seeing  any  body  else,  are  you  ? ” 
replied  Cecil. 

“ Who  will  be  there  ? do  you  expect  com- 
pany ? ” 

“ A very  select  circle  ! ” answered  Cecil. 


274 


CECIL. 


“ I mast  arrange  my  toilette  then,”  said  the 
printer,  surveying  himself  from  head  to  foot. 
“ Will  there  be  any  ladies  ?” 

“Yes,”  said  Cecil,  “lady  pigeons,  and  lady 
rabbits  ! Good  bye  ! Remember,  it  is  in  the 
Champs  Elysees,  near  the  garden  of  Beaujon, 
on  Mr.  Raimond’s  tract  of  land  ; every  body 
knows  where  that  is.  Come  Fox  ! ” 

Cecil  had  hardly  left  the  office  when  a foot- 
man in  green  and  gold  livery  entered. 

“ Sir,”  said  he,  addressing  one  of  the 
printers,  “ does  not  a boy  named  Cecil, 
work  here  ? a little  boy,  who  has  a black 
spaniel,  called — ” 

“Fox?”  interrupted  the  printer.  “They 
have  both  gone  home.” 

“ I come  with  a message  from  Madame 
Marboeuf,”  said  the  footman. 

“And  what  does  Madame  Marboeuf  wish?” 
asked  Mr.  Germain,  advancing  towards  the 


THE  SUMMONS. 


275 


footman.  “ If  you  can  leave  the  message, 
we  will  deliver  it  to  Cecil.” 

“ She  wishes  him  to  come  immediately  to 
her  house,”  replied  the  footman. 

“ He  has  gone  out  now,  and  will  not 
return  to  day,”  said  Mr.  Germain.  “ But 
to-morrow  we  will  tell  him.” 

“ Madame  wished  to  see  him  to-day;  but 
if  that  cannot  be,  to-morrow  will  answer,” 
replied  the  footman,  bowing  and  retiring. 


CHAPTER  .XXXVI. 


THE  CONCLUSION. 

By  the  time  Cecil  had  finished  his  errands  it 
was  already  dusk.  He  hastily  returned  home, 
and  met  the  printer  whom  he  had  invited 
to  dinner,  standing  at  a short  distance  from 
his  cottage. 

“ Is  that  your  house  ? ” asked  the  man. 

“ Yes,”  replied  Cecil,  who  to  his  great  as- 
tonishment, perceived  that  his  door  was  half 
open. 

“ Well,  take  care,  Cecil,”  said  the  printer, 
in  an  altered  voice,  “ it  is  full  of  people.” 

Cecil  looked  at  Fox,  who,  after  having 
made  several  joyous  bounds  around  his  mas- 
ter, ran  into  the  house. 


THE  CONCLUSION. 


277 


“ Look  there/’  said  Cecil  ; “ my  dog  an- 
swers you  that  friends  only  are  there.  Mr. 
Raimond  is  the  only  person,  besides  myself, 
who  has  a key  ; and,  as  I did  not  open  the 
door,  he  must  have  done  so.  Let  us  enter.” 
And  Cecil  walked  boldly  into  the  cottage. 
The  printer  followed  mistrustfully.  Cecil 
could  hardly  believe  his  senses  when  he  re- 
cognized Madame  Marboeuf,  seated  on  one 
of  his  two  chairs,  and  Mr.  Raimond  on  the 
other.  The  blind  man,  his  son,  and  Mary, 
stood  near,  and  beside  them,  was  the  old 
invalid  caressing  Fox,  and  calling  him  Am- 
terlitz ! Some  distance  behind  this  group, 
concealing  himself  as  though  in  shame,  stood 
Augustus,  looking  pale  and  haggard. 

Madame  Marboeuf  appeared  much  moved, 
and  Mr.  Raimond  was  uneasily  beating  his 
cane  on  the  ground.  The  blind  man’s  head 
was  bent  forward,  as  though  he  was  atten- 
tively listening  to  every  sound,  that  he  might 
24 


278 


CECIL. 


divine  what  was  going  on  around  him.  Mary 
and  Paul  were  weeping,  but  their  tears  were 
of  joy  rather  than  grief. 

Madame  Marboeuf  was  the  first  to  speak 
“ Come  here,  my  child,”  said  she,  extending 
her  hand  to  Cecil,  “ and  tell  me  why,  not- 
withstanding my  note,  you  did  not  come  to 
my  house  this  morning.” 

Before  Cecil  had  time  to  reply,  Augustus 
stepped  forward  with  a sad  but  resolute  air, 
and  said,  in  a voice  full  of  emotion  : “ It  was 
my  fault,  Madame.  I am  very  culpable. 
Ah  ! Cecil,  you  were  right  in  saying  that 
our  good  and  evil  acts  brought  the  one  reward 
and  the  other  punishment.  Your  history  and 
mine  prove  that  this  is  true.  My  first  bad 
action  was  the  burning  of  my  father’s  will, 
which  insured  you  a comfortable  income  for 
life  ; by  this  means,  I deprived  myself  of  the 
power  to  save  my  father’s  fortune,  the  details 
of  which  were  only  given  in  his  will.  You 


THE  CONCLUSION. 


279 


know  with  what  unnatural  cruelty  I took  you 
to  Paris  and  there  forsook  you,  without  even 
giving  you  a cent ! Since  that  time,  Cecil, 
your  image  has  haunted  me  in  my  sleep. 
Often  I awoke,  pale  and  frightened,  and 
thought  I heard  your  voice,  which  sometimes 
plaintively  begged  me  for  food,  and  some- 
times, threateningly  called  me  murderer  and 
assassin  ! Ah  ! those  nights ! Just  God  ! 
what  nights  ! I often  lay  without  daring  to 
close  my  eyes  for  fear  of  seeing  your  image, 
which  appalled  me,” 

Here  Augustus  paused  a moment,  over- 
come by  his  feelings.  Soon  he  continued  : 

“On  returning  to  Bordeaux,  I learned  that 
my  father’s  only  remaining  sister,  of  whom 
he  never  spoke  in  our  presence,  because  he 
had  many  years  ago  quarrelled  with  her 
husband,  had  arrived  in  the  city.  This 
sister  had  heard  of  her  brother’s  dangerous 
illness,  and.  wished  to  see  him  again  before  he 


CECIL. 


280  • 

jik^ 

died.  She  was  a widow,  and  rich  ; these  twc 
circumstances  were  sufficient  to  make  me  call 
upon  her.  Her  first  inquiry  was  after  her 
nephew,  Cecil.  She  said  that  as  you  were 
without  fortune,  it  was  her  intention  to  make 
you  her  heir.  She  asked  to  see  you.  I 
concealed  my  wickedness,  and  told  her  that 
your  education  had  been  so  much  neglected, 
that  I had  taken  you  to  Paris  and  placed 
you  at  college.  My  aunt  praised  me  for  this 
judicious  action,  and  requested  me  to  give 
her  the  address  of  the  college.  I gave  her 
the  first  name  that  came  into  my  head.  She 
returned  to  Paris,  and,  as  you  may  suppose, 
Cecil,  I soon  received  a letter  from  her.  She 
told  me  I had  deceived  her,  and  insisted  upon 
knowing  where  you  were.  Not  being  able  to 
reply,  I did  not  answer  her  letter.  As  I told 
you,  I was  robbed,  duped,  and  deceived.  1 
lost  the  fortune  I was  unworthy  of  possessing, 
and  came  to  Paris,  where  I completed  my  ruin.” 


THE  CONCLUSION. 


281 


He  then  addressed  Madame  Marbceuf: 

“ One  evening,  when  I was  almost  dying 
with  hunger,  I stopped  a man  on  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  asked  for  bread  as  a robber 
would  demand  money.  But  I was  unarmed. 
I did  not  mean  to  harm  him.  Though  I am 
guilty  of  much  wickedness,  Madame,  my 
punishment  would  be  too  severe  if  you  be- 
lieved me  capable  of  wishing  to  take  the  life 
of  one  of  my  fellow  creatures.  Alas  ! I was 
a beggar — but  I was  only  begging,  when  the 
voice  of  a child  struck  on  my  ear,  the  hand 
of  a child  was  placed  on  my  arm.  It  was 
the  same  voice  that  I heard  every  night  in 
my  dreams.  I turned,  and  beheld  the  same 
face  that  appeared  at  the  foot  of  my  bed 
every  night.  c Who  calls  me  ? ’ demanded  I, 
trembling  so  violently  that  the  man  I had 
arrested  made  his  escape.  ‘ It  is  I,  Cecil/ 
replied  my  cousin  ; for  it  was  really  he — but 

not  as  my  dreams  portrayed  him — pale  and 

24* 


282 


CECIL. 


famished.  He  looked  healthy  and  robust, 
and  most  happy.  It  was  with  difficulty  that 
I recognized  him.  Cecil  succored  me — me, 
who  had  turned  him  out  of  my  father’s  house  ! 
He  received  me  in  his  room — me,  who  had 
stolen  the  only  legacy  left  him  by  my  father  ; 
he  shared  with  me  the  money  he  had  earned 
by  the  sweat  of  his  brow — with  me,  who  had 
so  cruelly  abandoned  him  when  he  needed 
my  protection.  He  came  to  me,  kind  and 
forgiving,  and,  without  one  reproach,  without 
one  taunting  observation  said  : ‘ Enter,  eat, 

and  sleep.”  Do  you  think,  Madame,  that 
I was  softened  by  this  noble  and  generous 
conduct  ? No,  the  demon,  envy,  had  taken 
possession  of  me.  I was  envious  that  Cecil 
was  better  off  than  I,  that  he  was  living 
comfortably  while  I was  dying  with  hunger. 

I envied  his  gaiety,  which  sprang  from  a 
clear  conscience  ; his  prosperity,  which  came 
through  his  own  goodness — and  in  the  morning 


THE  CONCLUSION. 


283 


I awoke  in  his  bed,  in  spite  of  his  kindness, 
with  anger  in  my  heart.  Oh  ! Cecil,  do  not 

turn  from  me  in  horror;  for  that  anger  has 

been  succeeded  by  repentance  the  most  sin- 
cere, by  remorse  the  most  poignant.  We 

rose,  we  dressed  ourselves,  we  went  out. 

The  placard  about  Fox  first  attracted  our 
attention  ; Cecil  read  it  with  pain,  and  I with 
joy.  I set  out  for  your  house,  Madame ; but 
i stopped  on  my  way  to  take  breakfast,  and 
when  I arrived,  I found  Cecil,  with  his  dog, 
entering  your  door.  I awaited  with  great 
inquietude  the  result  of  this  interview,  which 
might  disclose  all  my  wickedness.  I did  not 
wish  Cecil  to  have  any  idea  of  the  tie  between 
us  three  ; for  Madame  Marboeuf  is  our  aunt,  Ce- 
cil, the  sister  of  my  father  and  of  your  mother.” 
“ Yes,  Cecil,”  said  Madame  Marboeuf ; “I 
am  your  aunt ; and  in  future  my  house  and 
my  fortune  are  yours.  Come  and  embrace 
me,  my  dear  child  ! ” 


284 


CECIL. 


/ 

Cecil,  astonished,  looked  first  at  his  aunt, 
who  held  out  her  arms  to  him,  then  at  Mr* 
Raimond,  who  made  a sign  for  him  to  go  and 
embrace  Madame  Marboeuf,  then  at  the  weep- 
ing spectators  of  the  scene ; at  Fox,  who 
alternately  licking  the  hand  of  Madame  Mar- 
boeuf and  of  Cecil,  and  at  Augustus,  whose 
confusion  was  gradually  disappearing. 

Madame  Marboeuf  repeated:  “Come  and 
kiss  me,  my  dear  child  1 ” 

“ Did  you  know,  Madame,  that  I was 
your  nephew  ? ” said  Cecil,  complying  with 
her  invitation.  As  his  head  rested  on  her 
bosom,  he  felt  her  tears  fall  on  his  cheek. 

“ No,  she  did  not  know  it  until  to-day, n 
said  Mr.  Raimond.  “ As  I entered  her 
house  this  morning,  I met  you  and  this  young 
man,  who  you  told  me  was  your  cousin  ; I 
was  going  to  question  you,  when  your  cousin 
drew  you  away.  I made  some  inquiries  of 
Madame  Marboeuf,  and  she  told  me  that  she 


THE  CONCLUSION. 


285 


had  not  seen  the  child,  but  that  the  young 
man  was  her  nephew,  whom  she  disowned, 
because  he  had  ill-treated  a little  cousin,  who 
had  suddenly  disappeared.  This  disappear- 
ance— the  title  of  cousin,  which  you  gave  to 
the  young  man,  the  relation  who  had  wronged 
you,  and  whose  name  you  would  never  men- 
tion— awakened  my  suspicions.  Before  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  what  to  do,  your 
cousin  himself  entered.  ‘ Madame,’  said  he 
to  Madame  Marboeuf,  ‘ pardon  me  for  daring 
to  present  myself  before  you  again  I am  a 
miserable  wretch.  I neither  deserve  mercy 
nor  compassion  ; and,  when  I tell  you  that 
the  nephew  whom  you  seek,  is  the  boy  who 
brought  your  dog,  you  will  perhaps  make 
your  servants  kick  me  out  of  the  house  ; but 
I will  not  complain.’  He  then  gave  the  ad- 
dress of  the  printing  office,  where  you  were 
employed.  A servant  was  despatched  for 
you,  but  you  had  gone  out  for  the  whole 


286 


CECIL. 


day.  We  determined  to  give  you  an  agreea 
ble  surprise  at  your  own  house.  But  Madame 
Marboeuf  wished  to  see  the  blind  man,  whose 
history  I had  related  to  her.  Next  we  went 
to  your  friend  the  invalid,  and  desired  him  to 
accompany  us ; and  here  we  have  all  been 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  our  host  for  at  least 
two  hours/’ 

“ Augustus,”  said  Cecil  affectionately,  “you 
will  not  envy  my  happiness  any  more,  I am 
sure?-” 

“ No,  because  you  deserve  it,”  replied 
Augustus,  with  unwonted  softness. 

“ And  if  I have  reason  to  rejoice,  so  have 
you,”  added  Cecil  gaily.  “ If  I have  recov- 
ered an  aunt,  you  have  found  one  likewise.” 

“ There  you  deceive  yourself,  Cecil,  replied 
Madame  Marboeuf ; “I  will  not  acknowledge 
him  as  my  nephew.” 

“ Oh  ! aunt  ”— began  Cecil  supplicatingly. 

“ It  is  useless  to  talk  to  me,”  said  his  aunt. 


THE  CONCLUSION. 


^287 

“ He  knows  it — I have  not  deceived  him  ; 
and  I told  him  that  whether  he  found  you  or 
not,  my  fortune  was  forever  lost  to  him.” 

“ IVo  matter  for  your  fortune — but  your 
affection,  aunt?”  said  Cecil.  “Your  affec- 
tion ; — that  may  be  his  ? ” 

“ It  appears,”  said  Mr.  Raimond,  laughing, 
%c  that  you  are  more  willing  to  share  your 
aunt’s  heart  with  your  cousin,  than  her  for- 
tune ! ” 

Cecil  replied  without  coloring,  as  the  satire 
of  the  remark  had  escaped  him  ; “ That  is 
because  after  what  I have  heard,  I understand 
that  I can  do  what  I please  with  my  aunt’s 
fortune  ; so  Augustus  will  share  it  with  me  ; 
but  with  her  affection , it  is  very  different.” 

“ There  is  too  much  goodness  in  this  child, 
Madame,”  said  Mr.  Raimond,  “ for  it  to  be 
possible  that  his  cousin  should  be  totally  de- 
ficient— does  not  the  same  blood  flow  through 
their  veins  ? Come,  Madame,  forgive  him  * 


CECIL. 


288  > 

it  is  your  husband’s  old  friend,  who  entreats 
you.” 

“I  never  take  back  w^hat  I have  once  said,” 
replied  Madame  Marboeuf;  “ it  is  not  just 
that  the  wicked  should  be  recompensed  as 
well  as  the  good.  All  that  I can  promise  is. 
that  I will  not  interfere  with  what  Cecil 
chooses  to  do  for  his  cousin.  I will  permit 
him  to  be  as  generous  as  he  desires  to  be. 
He  may  give  Augustus  money,  if  he  chooses  ; 
but  it  must  be  in  his  own  name.” 

“ And  you  will  receive  him  sometimes  at 
your  house,  will  you  not  ? ” asked  Mr.  Rai- 
mond. 

Madame  Marboeuf  replied  coldly  : “ Cecil 
will  always  have  a right  to  offer  his  cousin  a 
seat  at  my  table  or  a bed  in  my  house.” 

“ Be  content,  then  ; you  will  not  want  for 
anything,”  whispered  Cecil  in  the  ear  of 
Augustus. 

Cecil  had  hardly  finished  his  whisper  when 


THE  CONCLUSION. 


289 


he  felt  a dog’s  little  teeth  biting  his  hand. 
It  was  Fox,  who  appeared  to  reproach  his 
master  for  having  forgotten  him. 

“Oh!  You  are  right,  Fox!  you  are  right!” 
said  Cecil,  bending  down  and  embracing  him. 
“ I am  very  ungrateful.  You  have  given  me 
every  thing!  Without  you,  I should  still  be 
the  poor  little  Robinson  Crusoe,  and  you  my 
man  Friday  ! ” 

It  only  remains  to  be  told,  that  Cecil 
finished  his  studies  at  one  of  the  first  colleges 
in  Paris  ; and  instead  of  the  little  cottage  on 
Mr.  Raimond’s  ground,  stands  a handsome 
house,  in  the  building  of  which  Paul  and  his 
comrades  assisted. 

The  old  invalid,  to  wnom  Cecil  presented 
another  Austerlitz , was  placed  as  guard 
during  its  construction ; and  the  place  of 
door-keeper  is  given  to  the  blind  man  and 
his  family.  Cecil  himself  is  the  owner  of 

the  house. 

25 


290 


CECIL. 


a 


i 


As  for  Augustus,  notwithstanding  the  care 
and  attention  of  Cecil,  whose  kindness  did 
not  decrease ; and  notwithstanding  his  aunt’s 
condescension  in  allowing  him  a seat  at  her 
table,  he  enlisted  as  a soldier  not  long  since 
and  went  to  Africa. 

Fox  is  yet  alive,  and  has  grown  quite  fat, 
which  does  not  prevent  his  standing  on  his 
hind  legs,  and  dancing,  rather  heavily  to  be 
sure,  when  his  young  master  cries  out : 

“ Come  Fox  ! my  man  Friday  ! Come  out 
and  dance  for  your  little  Robinson  of  Paris  ! 3i 


fhfo  JtttoiUs 

PUBLISHED  BY 

JAMES  MILLER, 

522  BROADWAY,  N.  Y. 


MAGNET  STORIES, 

For  Summer  Days  and  Winter  Nights 

SECOND  SERIES. 


IMPULSE  MB  PBJHSIPLE, 

AND  OTHER  STORIES. 

BY  MISS  ABBOTT. 


THE  PRIVATE  PURSE, 
•Stub  Dti)cr  Stories. 

BY  MRS.  S.  C.  HALL. 


rURNS  OF  FORTUNE 


BY  MRS.  S.  C.  HALL. 


Publbhed  by  James  Miller , 522  Broadway. 


OR  THREE  MONTHS  AT  SEA. 
BY  PETER  PARLEY. 


m\s  ^nfotmn’s  ItoteM  Cults. 

ILLUSTRATED. 


H MS  MMRSSN’S  STORY  BOOB. 

ILLUSTRATED.  # 


<ms  ^nktstn's  J&irg  Cults. 

ILLUSTRATED. 


GULLIVER’S  TRAVELS. 

New  Edition.  Illustrated. 


New  Edition.  Illustrated. 


Jiunt  Carrie’s  ifemes  for  Cpto. 


LIFE  OF  GEO.  WASHINGTON. 

With  Illustrations  by  Earley. 


».  ;W  , ^icslrh'' 


